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by theEOWs
Summary: She’s mad as a hornet and isn’t going to take it anymore. Atlantis encounters a resident just waiting for Daddy to come home. Cowritten by Stealth Dragon and drufan. You know there’s gotta be whump!
1. When he Broke Open the Second Seal

_A/N: Yes, Stealth Dragon and drufan have coauthored a story. We have chosen the name the EOW's (the Equal Opportunity Whumpers) for obvious reasons. We hope you enjoy! Spoilers for anything up to and including The Real World._

_Disclaimer: We own nothing._

_Warning: mild language_

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Chapter 1

When He Broke Open the Second Seal

Teyla always tricked him with that same head feint. It was embarrassing since he was a big college ball fan. Running backs used the maneuver mainly to fake out the defenders. The head indicated movement one way and the body went the other. The ruse served to confuse and delay the defender enough for the runner to juke around him. If done correctly, the guy was left scratching his head, searching his pockets for his wallet, and playing catch-up. Like Thomas Dolby sang, it was poetry in motion.

Teyla had only seen football (American style) a handful of times and had the move down pat. Alright, maybe the move was not just used for ball, but for other disciplines as well. She still would have given Neon Deion a run for his money.

This expected and anticipated decoy was successful seventy percent of the time, now being one of those times. He did mention embarrassing, didn't he? Yeah, he thought he did.

Her head and shoulders went left and the sticks went right stopping inches from his ear. His sticks and brain followed her head and shoulders, not her knees, toes, and her lethal sticks. He was doomed to keep repeating the same miserable mistake over and over again. Experience and common sense had completely abandoned him.

"Uncle."

"In other words, you surrender, John," Teyla said with the condescending smile she liked to aim at lesser combatants.

He loved that smile directed towards anyone else. For instance, McKay came to mind. Their one and only session had landed McKay on his knees with a bruise on his hand and that smile aimed right at him. A fitting retribution for all of McKay's condescending smirks aimed at everyone else. The smile was fine for others; Sheppard just hated it when it was directed towards him.

"Exactly, and seeing as we are exploring the West Pier today, I figured to do it as un-bruised and un-welted as possible," he calmly reminded her.

The condescending smirk that followed his statement he liked even less than the smile. Not much he could do about it, not like he could wipe it off her face. The better part of valor told him to bow and get his stuff together. So, he conceded defeat with the bow and walked over to the bench. They packed up their equipment and towels and put on their jackets.

"Carson'll be joining us today, because Rodney and Radek think that the area was used for a medical center and research facility," Sheppard casually relayed while slinging his gym bag over his shoulder.

"Yes, Elizabeth already told me. He's very excited from what I understand. The preliminary survey suggested something about nano-technology and actual, Ancient diagnostic equipment."

Sheppard had to smile. Teyla's vocabulary and grasp of the more advanced technologies found within Atlantis had improved over the last two years. She did not trip over the words anymore and even had picked up some of the Earth-born humans' grammatical quirks. Every once in a while, a contraction would pop out of her very proper Athosian mouth. Charin would have cringed.

"We're going to use an advanced version of the MALP on a stick to scope out suspect rooms first. We don't know if any of it is related to the Asuran's or their human hating virus so it will go pretty slowly. Definitely, don't want a repeat of either of those incidents."

"A most wise precaution," she replied sagely.

"Yeah, I think so," he agreed sensibly.

They left the gym and started the long walk back towards civilization. "Since the Ancients tried to remove any trace of the Asuran's existence out of the data base, we're- as in Rodney and Radek, okay myself included- hoping all we find is super cool tech and lots of mankind saving type of stuff."

"Knock on wood," replied Teyla.

Snorting, Sheppard nodded his head in agreement. Teyla continued to expand her phrase dictionary and to make it her own. Now, if only the ability to anticipate and block her head feint would rub off on him.

----------------

The thing John Sheppard loved about exploring Atlantis was the regulated temperature. Here, there was no high humidity, no insects flying or crawling up his nose and/or into his mouth, no rain messing up his hair-do, and finally, no complaining, miserable scientists because of the aforementioned reasons. They were loud from excitement and from disagreements about how best to proceed, and blessedly not from the aforementioned reasons.

Also, on a side bar of the scientist angle, Dr. Carson Beckett did not have to travel through the Stargate.

"This is bloody brilliant! I believe this machine'll cut blood work down to half of the time!" Carson flitted from one diagnostic tool to another extolling the virtues of each.

An oft exasperated and frustrated voice answered him. "Unfortunately, it's not portable and it's built into the wall. So unless we move the entire infirmary two hours away or magically take this entire section to our infirmary, it's not going to be much use," sniped Rodney. "Even with transporters…"

Sheppard saw this as his chance to save everyone from a long dissertation- yet again- on the futility of some of their discoveries of the day. "I'll say it one more time-- why such an advanced race did not have some other form of transportation-- **_like _**cars… Heeey, that's what we need!" Sheppard snapped his fingers while switching gears mid-thought and smiled big.

"**_What _**do we need?" Rodney asked, looking like he was already regretting it.

The look of course did not deter Sheppard and, as a matter of fact, it had the opposite effect. "Flying cars, I want my flying cars. It's the twenty first century and we need flying cars!" Sheppard stood against the back wall staying out of the way. This had been the first room opened and checked. It soon became the base of operations for the search teams and scientists. He had come back to physically check on everyone while his team moved on to the last section of the day.

McKay's sigh filled the room with its condescension. "Colonel, do I need to tell you the logistical problems inherent in flying cars and the types of traffic control problems…_again_?" McKay never looked up from the console he was studying.

"Nah McKay, I think I can remember each argument against since I actually agree with you. It would just be really cool."

"Mmm, yes, cool and explosive and an insurance nightmare and …"

"Spoil sport."

They openly scowled at each other before returning to their assigned tasks. McKay's duty was checking, supervising, and clearing each piece of new technology. It also seemed to encompass being an overbearing know-it-all. Of course, that was an everyday occurrence and not something just discovered today.

Sheppard's mission, if he should choose to accept it (of course, there really had not been a choice), was checking, clearing, and supervising of each new room. And probably, according to McKay, he did this with infantile abandon.

There were twenty others assigned to this in-house adventure, but, they, the two most qualified (also according to McKay), had the final say.

"Well, now, since that is settled and since the fallible Ancients did not have enough imagination to create a transportation system for my flying cars, I'll go finish up my search of the nether regions of this facility." Sheppard tapped his P 90 and pushed off the wall.

"Yes, yes, you go and do that. I believe nether regions are a specialty of yours," McKay responded with false inattentiveness. He was already engrossed in the scrolling screen on his laptop. The thing had more lines of code, data, and encrypted information than Sheppard cared to think about or understand. Sheppard still sent McKay a scathing, albeit unreturned glare.

Sheppard tapped his headset and cordially greeted Teyla. "Teyla, I'm on my way back to you. Did Lorne find anything new?"

Her controlled voice sashayed through his ear canal. "No, Col. Sheppard. We're (there was on of those naughty contractions) on our way to the last room to be cleared for the day. Maj. Lorne has sent in the sensor device and it is clear of any foreign particles. I am (back to formal, alas) waiting for your return to enter."

"Okey dokey, tell Lorne to get any wayward personnel and gear packed up, and we can handle the last room."

"Maj. Lorne can hear just fine, sir." Lorne's voice sounded very displeased in his ear. "Will wait here for you and then get the kids ready for the long walk back."

"Be there in five."

Sheppard knew he could have just asked Lorne, but he also liked to remind the men that Teyla was a leader in her own right, and not just the token female on his team. She had expertise that he did not have-- especially in their first year here. She, Rodney and even Ford had knowledge of and/or traveled through the Stargate before he had even known of its existence. He was a newbie, a novice, and was making it up as he went along. He had chosen them because a good leader needed good people behind him and at his side. And even with all the changes, he did.

Sheppard walked the long corridor to a transporter that would take him to the lower level. This was how he liked his exploration-- a nice comfortable walk, a leisurely pace, no scary monsters chasing him back to the Gate, no hostiles shooting at him, no tree limbs smacking him in the face and no squealing scientist ranting in terror. This was the best part of exploring a different (he could not say 'new' anymore) galaxy. It was the only way to do it.

Unfortunately, this galaxy, as he supposed every other galaxy liked to do, threw a wrench in his five minute estimate. Lt. Thackery sliced his hand on some piece of Earth based equipment and had to be hurried to the medical staff. It was not an average cut, but one of those that surgery might be needed. Once everyone was situated from that bit of melodrama, he approached his final objective.

"Teyla, Lorne," he casually greeted.

"Colonel," they casually answered.

They all wore a smirk and gave a brief nod of the head.

"As we said sir, no foreign particles, no mutating particles or any other pulsating energy signatures. There are no sleeping alternate members of the expedition or contagions of any kind, which we can detect. The room is initialized just waiting for your search." Lorne gave the update in a cheeky amused tone. He kept a straight face through the entire statement and only flared his nostrils once. Obviously, he had enjoyed the nice easy afternoon as well.

"Thank you, Major. Dr. McKay thinks this room held nano-technology so I wanted to make sure of this one myself. Why don't we get the party goers on the bus so we can head out as soon as we're done here?"

Lorne saluted and turned on his heal.

Teyla gave another nod as Sheppard gestured for himself to go first.

"Too bad this section is so far away. It has some very interesting devices," she lamented for laments sake.

"Yeah," agreed Sheppard, "thus my obsession with flying cars."

"That would be cool, sir!" Lorne shouted down the hallway before he turned a corner.

"Now if only McKay would agree," Sheppard pointed out in a conspiratorial tone to Teyla.

She rolled her eyes and appeared to care less about flying cars and Rodney's view of them.

-------------------

Dreaming, she had been dreaming for so long. Sensations tingled at her receptors and light reflected off other, seemingly long-dormant receptors. The dreams had lasted longer than she had anticipated, but her father should be here soon. They were evacuating the city and he was coming back for her.

She activated her visual nodes and remained hidden just in case it was not her father. It was fortunate she had taken such a precaution, because strangers were in the laboratory. She adjusted her sensory nodes and observed them. They looked like her father's people but were not dressed like them. As she extended herself along the room's surface, she realized they were not her father's people at all. They were something else, something more primitive. She would have asked Atlantis, except the great network was not answering. Only remnants of what had been provided feedback. It would take some time to receive a full answer.

Father had promised to come back for her. He had promised to come right back. These beings looked like the seedlings that his race had scattered across this galaxy. Why would they be here unless they were in league with the enemy? Her father would not leave her to these primates. He had said to hide. He had said he would bring her with him, but he just had to power down some of his experiments. His experiments would have to be left and he was so fond of them, especially her. He would be back soon and these weeds would be removed. They would be sorry for interloping in Pater's private laboratories.

She reached out again to the great network and received no answer. This time she found smaller systems working, less advanced programs. Obviously, it belonged to the seedlings before her. However, it did connect with the database. She had not thought to ask about that.

Answers started to compile as she searched the primitive system. To her utter sorrow and disappointment, Pater was gone. He had left her for all eternity to slumber with the city. Ten thousand of these creature's years had passed and he had left her alone and shut down. Anger rose within her, but she suppressed it the best she could. These imposters were the new residents and if she could sense it right, the male before her was as close as the primates could get to being part of her father's absent race.

Humans, they called themselves humans. Pater had considered them a diversion of the council's, something to occupy planets with and nothing more than pets. They were expendable and apparently learning with slower speed than her kind had.

Without the great city wide network, she would have to use other means to discover the level of contamination. She had to believe her father would return. He had named her Carus after his dead, flesh and blood daughter; he would not just leave her.

These seedlings were the failed, lesser experiment, fodder for the enemy. She would eradicate them from Atlantis and hold the doors open for the return of Pater and his people. Certainly, he would not have purposefully forgotten her?

As the woman drew near to her nexus, Carus reached out and touched her. Memories, experiences, and a swell of emotions filled Carus for a moment. She also made the woman forget the touch in that same eternity of a second. She could not trust this creature to keep a secret on her own.

Seeing his companion's pause in front of the wall, the almost member of Pater's race asked if Teyla was all right.

The affected seedling placed a serene smile on her face, slowly turned, and confidently answered him.

"Yes, Colonel, I'm fine."


	2. That Girl Jist Ain't right

A/N: We appreciate all the positive feedback. The plot bunnies and muses basking happily in them.

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Chapter 2

That Girl Jist Ain't Right

Incessant beeping made John long for a hammer. Or better yet a slingshot to pulverize the piece of digital shrieking plastic without having to totally bare his arm to the cooler air of his quarters. But wishes were for suckers and the delusional. John shoved back petty needs, buckled down, and reached out to slap the alarm into silence. The cooler air made his skin prickle and the dark hairs of his arm stand on end.

John threw back the blankets for his other arm and bare legs to suffer the same fate. He shivered and took a swig from the bottle of water beside his bed. The clock showed 5:03 in red letters. John rubbed his face one handed wiping away the last vestiges of sleep and rose to slip into sweatpants and running shoes before heading on out with a bottle of water in hand.

Ronon was waiting for him at their usual starting point. They exchanged a silent nod of greeting (John was starting to get the hang of this 'not always relying on words' thing) and the two broke into a warm up trot. Heart rates escalated, blood flowed, and muscles warmed. The trot evolved into a brisk run, warmth to a tolerable burning in the legs and lungs. John loved that burn, feeling his heart step up its efforts, his muscles pulling and stretching like taffy, and the way everything close up blurred and everything farther away drifted.

They came to the windows in time to see the sun breaking out of the horizon stretching a shaft of blazing gold between the line dividing water and sky. More gold flashed off smooth metal and for a heartbeat the world was on fire. Then the windows drifted away plunging the runners back in the cool, blue-green of the Atlantis interior.

John smiled. Man he loved this city.

John and Ronon extended their circuit for another half mile over catwalks and through empty corridors and chambers. As per usual, like a unspoken agreement John would have never agreed to if it had been spoken, he was the first to falter. He stumbled out of the brisk run and back into the warm up trot. Ronon slowed to compensate. The cool down run drifted away into a walk until they were back at the starting point. John doubled over gasping in lung-fulls, Ronon leaned against the rail and gulped down half a bottle of water.

" You're getting there," Ronon said between heavy breaths.

John eyed him askance. He could never determine whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Compared to Ronon, John was getting nowhere fast.

The Satedan clapped John on the back, hard enough for John's bones to rattle but gentle enough to keep his spine from getting dented.

" Tell me that when you're the one tripping over your feet."

Ronon grinned and capped his water. It was a smirk of amusement, because John amused even when he was trying to do the opposite. It was an annoying poke to the ego, but preferable to Ronon's more wolfish grin of anticipation concerning blood-shedding opportunities. The two could be hell to tell apart. The difference was betrayed in the eyes. A happy Ronon was a relaxed Ronon. A feral Ronon had a smile on his face and a look in his eyes that screamed "heeere's Johnny!" Angry Ronon wore no smile and a look that really could kill if everyone around him wasn't so afraid to make eye contact.

When John got his breath back, he straightened and took a few long gulps from his bottle. They headed back to civilization; hot, tired, sweaty, and stinking to make Pepe LePew fall head over heels for them. They parted ways to their respective quarters. John shucked his clothes leaving a trail to the bathroom. He removed the solid layer of sweat from his skin using pounding hot water and a lot of soap. Clean and smelling of – well – soap, he hopped out of the shower, toweled off and dressed in his usual ensemble of military issued everything, going for the long sleeved shirt as Atlantis tended to be chilly, especially in the mornings.

John felt good today. He felt energized, on top of the world, happy to be alive, and in the mood to spread the good cheer. Rodney probably wouldn't have any of it but, hey, it was the effort that counted. John made his long-striding way to the mess hall where he grabbed a tray and some food to go with it. He then took himself and that food to the table where Rodney sat multi-tasking between breakfast and a laptop.

John slid himself into the chair and his tray across the table. " _Beautiful_ day, don't ya think?"

Rodney's whole body sagged but he never took his eyes from the screen. " Oh, gosh, you're happy."

" I am happy McKay and I refuse to apologize for that. Figure out how to make my hover car yet?"

McKay's withering expression could have made a good weed killer.

John stabbed his fork into his tiny pile of scrambled eggs. " No need to look like you bit into a... uh... um... non-citrus related sour thing McKay. I'll settle for a hover board."

" I'm not Santa Clause."

John batted his eyes and smiled in a sickly sweet way. " And yet you grant so many wishes on my Christmas list, like not letting the city blow up, or the puddle jumper, or any other space related thing for that matter. Buck up, Rodney, I'm giving you a compliment."

McKay stuffed a heaping helping of eggs and bacon into his mouth. It was a whole minute before he could speak again. " Why, you want something?"

" Yeah, my hover car."

" Then go cry a river 'cause I refuse to indulge in your whims, fancies and traffic abominations."

John remained all grins as he took a more dignified helping of eggs onto his own fork. " Bite me, Rodney. My sunny disposition will not be thwarted."

" Damn," Rodney muttered.

" You're only making it worse, McKay."

Ronon soon joined him carrying a tray that rivaled Rodney's. Rodney looked up and pointed his fork at John while looking at Ronon.

" Did you slip something into his water when you two went running this morning?"

Ronon graced Rodney with only a flat glance normally reserved for whatever gunk got caught on the bottom of his boot. The Satedan plowed into his pile of freeze-dried meat with a small grunt of satisfaction. As much as the physicist and stoic warrior should have repelled each other, it was their common love for food most people turned their noses up at that created a camaraderie – or at least something resembling it, much like the freeze-dried stuff they were snarfing down.

" I'm in a good mood, Rodney, because I have no reason to be other wise," John explained, and sprinkled a liberal amount of salt onto his otherwise bland freeze-dry eggs. " What's you're problem? Late night with the goodies we find and them not turning out so good after all?"

Rodney took a small sip from his mug of coffee. " I'll admit to the late night part. Most of the 'goodies' we discovered were mediocre at best and a few pretty much already did what most of Carson's favorite junk already does. The best stuff is the big stuff that, sadly, we can't move, which means another wonderful romp down the metallic brick road to see if we can't light those suckers up and clear the place as a future medical lab."

" I'm game," John said.

Rodney gave him a sarcastic smile. " Good for you. But it probably won't happen until tomorrow or the day after. I'm too tired and Carson's got his hands full with people who don't know how to keep tabs on their allergies."

John scrunched his brow sympathetically. " Detergent or soap this time?"

Rodney became rather thoughtful for a moment. " Skin lotion, and the hypoallergenic kind. Can you believe it? That's why I keep to name brands and prescriptions."

Sheppard nodded and popped a piece of bacon into his mouth. " I avoid what I don't have to use. Hey, where's Teyla? I thought she'd be here by now?"

" Passed her in the hall before coming here," Ronon said. " Looked like she was going somewhere."

" Ya think?" Rodney mumbled. Ronon paused in chewing. He'd heard. Rodney pretended not to notice that his words had been noticed.

John ignored the entire exchange as he scanned the mess and the breakfast line for the Athosian. She'd promised him a spar today and he was looking forward to a chance at retribution. Since she expressed no qualms in pulling off earth-based moves, John was clearly justified to be able to do the same. But if worse came to worse, and no move panned out, there was always getting down and dirty with a half-nelson and a head-lock or two. Okay, so that would be getting a little immature, yet still good for a laugh until their next spar.

In all truth, John would never be able to play dirty with Teyla. He was just tired of getting his own ass handed to him.

John was wrong, wishes did come true. Or maybe Teyla could read more than just wraith minds. She entered the mess in an almost tentative way as though the dining hall was only her first stop on an Atlantean tour. She looked around, taking the room in with an expression of uncertainty flickering across her face. John watched her move to the line and observe the actions of those ahead with an almost child-like curiosity. She regarded the food selection in the same way, and mimed the person in front of her in terms of picking foods. Food procured, she returned to her befuddled state as she searched for a table. Her gaze landed on the team, and she smiled complacently.

John smiled back. Her smile struck him as odd. It was as though something were missing from it, and so to compensate a little too much of something else was being forced into it; too much serenity, congeniality, and over all came across as being _too_ happy. It just wasn't a _Teyla_ smile.

Teyla joined the rest at the table sitting beside John and staring at him.

There was a saying about people who smiled too much – don't trust them. John upheld his smile that had weakened from genuinely happy to merely polite. He was internally squirming and fighting hard to keep it internal. John didn't like it when people stared. People stared for all the wrong reasons in John's experience. Glowy chairs, bugs, scales, and wraith – people around here really needed to learn when to look away.

Sheppard cleared his throat nervously. " See something you like or am I turning blue again?"

Adding mystery to curiosity, Teyla didn't respond. Her focus pulled away to be turned on her plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage.

Sausage – Teyla hated sausage, even in breakfast tacos. Mystery ascended to being just plain weird when the sausage was the first food item she speared and bit into, savoring it like she actually liked it.

John glanced at his two companions across the table. The oddity wasn't lost on them as they too stared a little slack-jawed and raised-brow. John cleared his throat again.

" Um... so, Teyla..." _Why are you eating the one earth food you despise as much as a culling? Been replaced by any pod people lately? _The oddity wouldn't suffer such foolish questions. Simple logic wormed its way in pushing for the possibility that Teyla had learned to like the spicy meat. It wasn't unheard of. John had once harbored disdain for pineapple pizza, then learned to love it when during Mitch's birthday party it was the only food available. No time for breakfast and an extended run through an obstacle course during the American equivalent of a monsoon had made John desperate to shove anything into his stomach just to get it to shut up.

John quickly changed the subject. " Up for a little one on one today?" He bit back a wince when Teyla's focus returned to him, bringing with it that non-Teyla smile.

The smile broadened. John couldn't help but get creeped out.

" Of course, Colonel. I have been looking forward to it. I hope you have been practicing."

John shrugged. " It might surprise you to say that I have... a little."

Teyla inclined her head. " Good." She went back to her food. " Because you will need it."

Rodney and Ronon oooed. John silenced them with a look that could have curdled milk. " Maybe the same'll be said for you this time around."

Teyla took another bite of sausage. " I do not believe this will be so. Your fighting skills are inferior at best."

John did a double take. Rodney was fighting back a laugh while chewing at the same time.

" I believe she just gave you the Athosian equivalent of 'bring it on'," he said.

John narrowed his eyes. Teyla's usual 'bring it on' was normally more tolerable – a long suffering sigh and a rather patronizing "perhaps you will show improvement today."

Sausage loving and chalked full of attitude; body snatchers did exist, damn them.

_You are a mere lump of clay to be beaten into misshapen forms beneath the might of my superior fighting skills. Why even go on? You are nothing._

So summed up Teyla's smile. John might have been dumping on a heavy layer of metaphors, but he was having a hard time sticking with the nice thoughts. He could never deny Teyla's skills but, crap, she didn't have to rub it in his face. It was like she had already won before stick even got to touch flesh.

The two combatants circled each other; predator and rankled prey. John refused to be the antelope. Maybe a hyena or starving leopard in the face of a lion with the real antelope between them, just never the antelope. Although McKay would probably beg to differ what with John's long ("_ahem_, don't forget skinny") legs and all.

_Rodney you SOB. _McKay never had to be present to administer the barbs, not with the seeds of verbal abuse he'd planted from the day they'd met.

John debated between the offensive and the defensive. Teyla had yet to make a move, probably relying on her smile of superiority to throw him off. Annoyance increased impatience until it won out. John made the first move. He lunged to the right making for her hip, only to twist away when Teyla pulled her stick down to deflect, and bring his stick down toward her left hip.

Sticks clacked when John's met Teyla's. He gave her a look of alarm, and she gave him a triumphant grin.

" Predictable," she purred. John would have been angry if he hadn't been unnerved. That one word delivered from her tickled his spine like spider legs tap-dancing down his back.

_Bad analogy John, bad!_

Teyla pulled her arm upward shoving John's stick away. He skipped back, and she strode forward bringing the sticks up with aquatic grace. Offense became defense at Teyla's continuous strikes a seeming blur as they targeted his upper body. John reacted fast to defend and the sparring room reverberated with the sharp clack of the sticks. Teyla's assault drove John back, and a misstep gave her the advantage when John was unable to bring his stick up in time. Solid wood connected with his vulnerable flank, hard. Not the stinging, welt-raising hard, but deep bruise forming, pulsating to the heart-beat hard that had him doubled over with one hand pressed to his side.

" Teyla..." he started to protest, but Teyla, apparently, wasn't done. The wood thwacked hollowly across his jaw with a force that snapped his body around leaving his back exposed. Another thwack and pain burned across his shoulder blades. John's yelp of alarm was cut off when the next blow landed directly on the same newly forming bruise across his ribcage.

" Teyla!" John cried. He twisted around in time to arch back before Teyla's swing got him in the face again. He stumbled back around the room bringing up his sticks to deflect each blurred blow. Some he got, most he missed and so would form bruises on his arms, shoulders, sides, across his chest and on one side of his neck. Another swing connected with the other side of his face and John felt the heat of blood spraying out of his nose.

Teyla was a cat with her endless energy and graceful strikes. Between deflecting and taking hits, John was slowing down giving her the opportunity for more two point hits to flesh and bone.

A crack to the head brought him falling to his already abused side. There was no holding back a cry of pain, and all he could do to alleviate it was to roll onto his back. Each panting breath sprayed a fine mist of saliva and blood across the metallic floor when he turned his head to look at Teyla's feet. He winced at the spiking headache created on rolling his eyes upward to Teyla's face.

She was looking down at him, all smug smiles, touched with a hint of malice that was not Teyla even on the worst day.

John's belief in body snatcher's was being rapidly strengthened. Unless...

" Teyla," he said, and inchingly scooted away from Teyla trying to hide the fact that he was doing so. He didn't like the way she was holding one of her sticks; a little too like the way one holds a knife in preparation for a downward swing. " Um... I know I've kind of pushed for you not to be easy on me, but this is kind of abusing the request... did I say something that may have offended you? Or do something? Or did someone say I said or did something? Because I apologize profusely – on my knees if I could get up – if I did..."

With each centimeter John gained, Teyla kept the distance closed. Ronon's smirk of violence was a girlish giggle compared to what curled Teyla's mouth, and John couldn't help a slight cringe.

" Teyla, come on. You won, all right? So back off!"

John attempted to struggle to his feet. Teyla slowly raised her arm brandishing the stick with the business end pointed down.

Then Ronon walked in and stopped, looking between John and Teyla in utter perplexity. Both eyebrows shot straight to his hairline.

" Hey guys."

Teyla lowered her arm sharply and whirled around. " Ronon," she said unpleasantly, and it was one for the history books to see Ronon flinch at the response. She shifted the sticks to have them in both hands in order to grab her bag as she strode swiftly from the gym. Ronon watched her go moving his eyes only, barely reacting when Teyla brush passed him clipping his arm. When she was beyond sight (and Ronon waited a little longer to ensure her beyond hearing) he turned his attention to the bloody and bruised Sheppard splayed out on the floor.

Ronon jerked his thumb over his shoulder. " What'd you say to her?"

John opened his mouth without forming words, so he shook his head instead. Ronon walked the rest of the way to extend his hand and help haul Sheppard to his feet. John stumbled a bit, doubled over with his hand pressed to his throbbing side. He felt like he'd been bitch-slapped by an elephant.

" Beckett?" Ronon asked.

John spat blood on the floor before nodding. " Beckett."

Ronon nodded back and aided his beaten friend to the infirmary.

She moved with a silence that if she had been witnessed, the witness would have been left questioning her existence. The shadows had been her friends hiding her from the dark skinned human male and the dark haired hybrid _mutt. _

Mutt: A human word used in reference to a creature known as a _dog_. If the dog was a mix of many dogs, then it was called a mutt. So much learned in only a night and a day. So much seen and felt and infected. The humans' machines were like mud, so malleable and simple to penetrate. Manipulation of these primitive machines held no real use to her except as a means of learning. So that's what she did. She dove into oceans of information, absorbing facts and data then arranging it into a list ranging from most important to least. What mattered she kept at the front of her mind, and the rest she stored for future use.

Personnel files she kept at the forefront. The mutt and his seedling kind were from a place called Earth. Some were scientists – like her father. Some were soldiers. A female led the scientists, and the _mutt_ led the soldiers.

Carus felt her influence of the dark-skinned male begin to manifest. Closing her eyes, she could see what he saw, and feel what he felt. Experiences and emotions flooded her like the data from the seedling machines – loss, painful and nearly consuming. It pricked her own senses and conjured thoughts of...

_Father, why did you leave me?_ She latched onto the seedling's dagger sharp control that made the pain a tool rather than a parasite. He used it like fuel motivating him to keep all that he had left, and all that he had left was his life.

Not now. Now he had other lives to upkeep that made the pain dull and his purpose sharpen. His purpose was survival, and it had stretched beyond his own. This could be used when her control was established.

Control, however, would not be established until after the mutt was deposited in the healing center of this infested city. Her influence would come too late for an appropriate opportunity that would allow her to manipulate the emotional impulse sensors of the brain in just the right way that would prompt the bigger human to snap the mutt's neck. Although it didn't really matter. The dark-skinned female had begun the spread of Carus' influence. Not all could be controlled but there would be future opportunities for the mutt to be disposed of.

The mutt was a disgusting abomination. Wasn't this what her father had feared? Cross-contamination. Interbreeding. Her father's people had bred with the _animals_. Was that not a sin?

Carus knelt before the flecks, spatters, and thumb-sized gobs of blood of the mutt littering the pristine floor. She dipped a single finger into the methodically cooling vermilion liquid that the mutt had spat from his bruised lips. It was thick, sticky, and still retaining some warmth.

Such fragile things, these creatures, these _humans_. The female's awareness had been Carus' awareness. Her arms Carus' arms. Carus had enhanced the sensations for herself so when the stick had struck the flesh of the mutt's side, she had felt the bone beneath the flesh give, heard it crack. A small crack no thicker than a hair was the mark left behind on a single rib courtesy of Carus' influence. The right synapses pricked, like the strings of an instrument. Memories and emotions she pulled and rearranged, and all else restrained until the female's motivations existed on a purely emotional and reactionary level. The poor seedling had no idea what she'd been doing, and never would. For her, it had been, and still would be, simply a matter of being right at the time. One downward thrust of the stick, wood penetrating frail flesh and breakable bone, and bye-bye abomination.

Carus lifted her finger toward her face and studied the sticky red liquid. She was patient, and second chances would present themselves.

The _mutt_ had to be first.


	3. The Cowboy Way

_A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback! The bunnies have the muses in a headlock and are handing out noogies. They are so excited!_

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Chapter 3

The Cowboy Way

"Mind if I sit here?"

Carus looked up from her plate at the blond woman holding a tray. Cadman, Lt. Laura Cadman, her memory informed her. Excellent choice.

"No, please, have a seat."

People watching. Carus had been in the mess hall people watching. It was a great place to study social interactions so she could fit in until…

"Carrie, Carrie Fuhs." She held out her hand and Cadman accepted it. Carrie smiled endearingly at the firm grasp and at the fortuitous custom.

"New?" Cadman asked in between bites of meatloaf.

"To all of this?" Carrie asked looking around the cafeteria. "Yes, does it show?"

"Just the staring at everything gave you away."

"Well, I've been stuck in anthropology since my arrival. I've seen the inside of my quarters and my lab, not much else."

Carus quickly inserted herself in the roster of scientists infesting the domains of her Pater's people. Next, she assigned herself some quarters. When the Daedalus returned, she would make the ruse complete by miraculously appearing on its list of transfers.

"Well, welcome to the great wide open," Cadman greeted with a big smile. "Loaf not agreeing with you?"

Carus looked down at her untouched plate. "Oh, quite the contrary, I'm finding it most satisfying," and took a bite.

She honed her chatting skills for the rest of the meal and even another human joined them. Carrie shook his hand too-- an engineer. Dr. Radek Zelenka would make a very useful addition to her burgeoning extended family.

Her network of organic spies reached among all of the disciplines now. She had eyes and ears everywhere. Her only limitation was the ability to directly control a small number at a time.

Her decision to emerge from the shadows benefited her cause. These seedlings would take no notice of just another face in the crowd, another scientist scurrying around doing their menial tasks. Their experiments paled in comparison to Pater's. Their lives were nothing but toys to her.

These creatures' existence was lowly. They shared no link to one another other than verbally. How limited. However, such an impediment created open thoroughfares for her infiltration. They would not know of this permeation until too late.

She remained at the table and chatted with the filth while watching who came and went. Much to her astonishment, the mutt limped in through the doorway. Resilient, this cur was. She fought the burning rage that wanted her to turn the entire cafeteria against him ending his lingering life. But-- there were other lesser mutts stationed near the room, and they carried weapons.

She would forgo the use of her spies and walk right up and…

Something made her stop in mid-thought. Something within her very basic programming prevented her from taking direct action. To her disgust, she had forgotten. How could _she _forget?

She could not kill her Pater's people and the mutt was included by lineage in that directive. Anger consumed her. She would have to find a way around that through her appendages. Teyla had almost carried out the task.

Laura looked up at Carrie. "What's wrong?"

Carus realized she was standing up and openly staring at the mutt as he stood in line.

Laura turned around in her seat and saw the object of Carrie's eye. She smirked playfully. "You've been sequestered in the labs too long. That's the Colonel. Don't let him scare you though, he's a wiry pussycat."

"As if he could," Carrie whispered sitting back down, the hatred smoldering.

"Now, don't you fall under the spell too. Many a girl's heart in Atlantis harbors a crush on him," Laura teased mistaking murderous desire for amorous pursuit. "Him or Ronon, now personally, I go for the brainier types that are really good with their hands…"

Radek coughed apparently choking on his drink. Cadman just gave her biggest, cheese eating grin and patted the ailing man on the back.

Carus ignored the entire exchange. She did not miss such idle chatter even when it was her father's great race, wasted energy on insipid prattle.

"My work keeps me busy. I will get around to meeting everyone sooner or later," she answered before taking another bite of the ground meat concoction. "I feel awake and alive for the first time in years."

"This place'll do that. This is my second…no, third tour here and it never gets old." Cadman took another bite of her dinner.

_Interloper_, Carus thought. _Unwelcome resident. Unworthy to touch the floor with those boots._

With those thoughts spurring her on, Carus continued to make good friends the rest of the day.

-------------------

So, John was pretty much confused. He had been going over any stupid, insignificant, or wayward slip of the tongue he could have possibly made that deserved a beat down like the one he received from Teyla and…nothing.

Rodney McKay was not the only socially inept person in the city, but John thought that he usually got by with his natural charm and something akin to tact. Maybe he was wrong; or maybe he was a complete social delinquent; or maybe he was a clueless moron; or maybe he just completely missed the point of the sparring for that day; or maybe Teyla was just being a meany…and how old was he to be using the word meany?

He had limped with a sore body and an aching head to lunch or more accurately, a midday snack. He did not think he could stay and sit in one of those plastic chairs or eat a full size meal, so he took his muffin and juice and limped back towards his quarters- very gingerly (always, very gingerly). Maybe his stride was more a gimp, a stagger or a shuffle instead of his normal lope, but he made pretty good time through the halls since he chose to go at the tale end of the ravenous rush.

The pod people were fast becoming a real idea. Teyla acting like Species (he was thinking that she might have actually tried ripping his spinal column right out of his body if Ronon had not shown up when he did) seemed easier to accept as his paranoia kicked into full blown mode. He probably ought to talk to Elizabeth about his getting his ass kicked by a girl as soon as possible-- lucky him.

The conversation would probably go along the lines of, "Yeah, first, she wiped the floor with my BDU's while my ass was still in them, and then she painted the room with the blood from my nose…"

Lovely thought.

He always lost, except for once. Elizabeth would point that out while trying not to laugh and would give him a sympathetic look at the same time. He would make a counterpoint that Teyla did not usually leave him with an overnight stay in the infirmary. And then she would have to concede that point. Cha-ching. He was sure a counterpoint to all the other counterpoints would be made, but eventually, they would settle on some sort of action.

When he thought about it, he always held back. Whenever he sparred, he purposely kept himself within the confines of the exercise. He brought his own style to the table, but never his own take. He kept his competitive nature contained, relatively. Some always tried to leak out and it made for a better interaction. He wondered if people truly understood that flying helicopters or anything with fixed wings was just part of his many talents. He always withheld and played within the rules of engagement for the exercise.

Anyway, how could he take Teyla down? Truth was his survival skills never clicked in because he was so shocked…and it was _Teyla_. For the first time since she had started instructing him, he wanted to open up a can of whoop-ass to prove his manhood-- and there was that incredibly immature side showing off again. Still, something had to be wrong, because Teyla did not flaunt her skills in that way-- ever.

Yeah, after he hobbled to his quarters and had a small, solitary meal, because his pride had been hurt just as bad as his nose, he would go to see Elizabeth. If anything and if the body snatchers had not invaded by then, she would know, via the grapevine, what transgression had Teyla so homicidal. Or maybe the world would never know and he would just continue to take the licks.

Halfway to his quarters, a distinctive voice sidled up beside him, stirring him out of his deep contemplations.

"Still trying to figure out what you did?" Rodney asked as he ambled along with him.

Sheppard gave him a scathing, skin-blistering glare.

"Ouch, she really let you have it. Whatever you did wrong, I'd apologize right now," he observed while his eyes studied each purpling bruise on Sheppard's face.

The glare turned into a drop-dead-you-jerk glower. The change was very subtle and John hoped Rodney received the message loud and clear.

"I'd go find her right now _and _I'd beg on hands and knees to forgive whatever asinine thing I'd done."

Message received and ignored.

"_I_ didn't do anything that _I_ can remember," John retorted hotly.

"Concussion too?" Rodney asked mildly.

"No, but would you like one?"

"Now, now. No need to bite my head off," Rodney said lightly.

John viciously bit into his muffin pretending it was a chunk of Rodney McKay's hide and gave him a superior look as the crumbs fell from his mouth. Rodney rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath in answer.

They continued to walk as John continued to brutally chew and Rodney continued to mumble. They followed the hallways until they entered a darkened connector area where the foot traffic lessened when everyone was on duty. It was the main thoroughfare from the cafeteria to the living quarters. At peak feeding frenzy time, it was wall to wall. Now, it was an open, empty space and unusually dark.

"Hmm, guess they're having a problem here," surmised Rodney. "Didn't have anything about it at this morning's department meeting. I'll give Watley in engineering a call…"

"It's Whitley," corrected John before movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. He saw a flash of skin and five knuckles heading towards his face.

"How would you…"

John ducked.

Rodney didn't.

_Yay, paranoia!_

The smack of skin on skin reached John's ear and the howl of surprise and pain from McKay soon followed. Unfortunately for John, such a quick movement pulled on his very sore ribcage and his breath escaped not wanting to return. He fell on his seat and scooted backwards realizing just how much his entire body was hurting but not caring too much about it at the present time.

It also gave him time to take in the situation, see who was attacking (because it definitely was not Teyla, unless hair had grown on her knuckles) and plan for a defense (which, at the moment, was sliding backwards down a deserted and darkened hallway on his rear). He tried to regain his feet as his back met a curved wall in the corridor.

The attacker had been hiding in an alcove behind one of the many bubble, lava lamps. This time John knew that he had not offended this guy outright. He did not have a clue who this maniac was. He was in civilian clothes, jeans and a button up. John also noticed, as they raced towards his stooped over profile, the psycho was wearing steel-tipped, cowboy boots.

The pointy boots stopped two feet away.

"Look…" John started hoping to talk some sense into the guy.

The cowboy boots finished the thought with a kick to the already injured and furious ribs. He literally blacked out. Stars sparkled as heat rushed up to his head and all his blood raced to his toes.

"What the hell?!!!" shouted Rodney. "Security to connector from mess to quarters!"

John felt his body hit the floor, but after that…he'd just have to take Rodney's word on his tackling of the assailant.

"_Robinson_?" Rodney demanded in disbelief as a scuffle ensued. "Dr. Eben Robinson, cartography?" He kept talking as grunting, shuffling and heels clicked too close to John's face.

He began to regain some of his faculties and saw Rodney's boots and some fine looking, leather, shit kickers dancing in front of his blurry vision.

"Sheppard? Little help Sheppard!" Rodney squawked.

John wanted to laugh, but that would have hurt, a lot. What help he could be? Spit on the floor and hope the crazy, violent guy slipped in it?

He did manage to get to all fours, distinguish whose legs were whose, and roll himself into the blue jean clad and black, western, boot wearing asshole. Only problem was-- Rodney went too, and damn if he wasn't vocal about it.

"Dammit Sheppard, him not me!" Then a loud _smack! _and _crack! _echoed down the hall. A very loud and screechy, "**OW!**" followed. "A punch looks so cool on T.V. and not so painful!" howled McKay probably holding his hand.

Sheppard would have normally answered with some smart ass, brilliant retort, except his brain was shutting down and his chest apparently hurt enough that talking was an issue.

Someone running from the living quarters also echoed down the corridor. Hopefully, the cavalry was on its way.

"Oh thank goodness, Ronon," Rodney breathed out, "Glad, you're he…"

Ronon's blaster went off and Rodney slumped with his head now making the cracking sound on the floor. Lying on his side on top of some stranger's very nice boots, Sheppard looked up into the barrel of Ronon's pampered baby.

"This week just gets better and better…" whispered John as more boots sounded on the floor. They were apparently coming en masse to kill him today. Just yesterday, he had such a good mood buzzing in his head and the day before that too. Just two, little days, joy was such a foul mistress.

John was too far removed from reality when the weapons fired and the shouting started seconds later. He heard the whine of the pampered hand canon as it discharged. Just apparently not at him because his head was still throbbing and firmly attached to his neck. Next, he heard retreating footsteps and more approaching footsteps-- whatever, he did not care anymore. He rolled himself off of Dr. Robinson and lay on his stomach on the temperature regulated floor. It took everything out of him and then some.

Someone peeled back an eyelid, "Sir, can you hear me? It's Major Lorne."

Sheppard mumbled an apology for whatever he had said or did to upset everyone today and let the light show in his head explode into deep space black.


	4. No More Wire Hangers

A/N: _Boy this chapter kept giving me problems - problems I end up discovering _after _posting. Let that be a lesson to all never to rush. The reviews have generated many warm fuzzy feelings__ as the muses have tackled the bunnies in a bear hug._

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Chapter 4

No More Wire Hangers

John had come to learn a little something about the intricate workings of infirmary equipment, as well as the human body. On returning to consciousness, the heart liked to tattle. The alteration in the heart rate was like going from a merry stroll to a power walk, subtle to the unconditioned ear. Carson's ear was anything but unconditioned. The man flinched when a syringe was dropped.

_Five, four, three, two..._

" Colonel, lad, can you hear me?"

John winced at the volume.

_No, Carson, I'm completely deaf. Mind shouting a little louder next time?_

" No use pretending, Colonel, if that's what you're up to."

It took a few twitches of the eyelids before they agreed to open. John snapped them shut at the assault of light, and opened them for round two. Carson was hovering over him, head a little extra large at this vicinity, and breath smelling faintly of mint and mannicotti. Which made John wonder when manicotti had been served, or if Cadmen had cooked for Carson again.

_Lucky bastard. _

Carson smiled, and it made John uneasy that it was a smile of relief.

" Glad to see you back with us, lad. You were giving me a bit of a scare."

John lifted his unsteady hand toward his face, only to have it intercepted and tucked back under the blankets.

" What now?" John groaned.

Carson moved his head back, and like a waning eclipse, a little more light filled John's world. Carson was looking troubled, nervous. John was already nervous, so that meant it was paranoia's turn to take over. The heart monitor tattled again when the power walk beeping turned into a brisk jog. The brisk jog became aerobic as recollection finally slunk its lazy butt in.

" Damnit!" John hissed. " Rodney, where's Rodney?" He attempted to get up, mostly out of habit from whenever he woke up anywhere but the infirmary. Carson interceded, placing both hands on John's shoulders to push him back down.

" Easy, lad. Rodney's in the bed beside you, to your right."

John turned his head, nasal cannula tugging, to see Rodney sleeping like a baby with a bandage around his head.

" He took a nasty bump to the noggin resulting in a concussion."

John saw a small pink stain on the bandage just over Rodney's eyebrow. " Shouldn't you be keeping him awake, then?"

" I've got Angie waking him every half hour. In fact he's due for another wake up call in about five minutes." Carson raised the head of John's bed, then adjusted the blankets around John just under his chest. " The concussion is minor but coupled with that sucker punch he got to the face, I'm not taking any chances."

John's gut coiled with slight guilt. The sucker punch wouldn't be a factor if he hadn't of ducked.

" What the hell happened?" he asked no one in particular.

" We were hoping you could tell us."

John whipped his head back to Carson and furrowed his brow. Carson was looking a little apologetic, and John didn't like that.

" You think this is my fault?"

Carson held up both his hands defensively, even taking a step back. It was common knowledge that Sheppard was at his most dangerous when infirmed and being accused of eliciting his own infirmity.

" No! Well, no, not entirely. It's just... After what Teyla did to ya, and the talk that's been going around."

John's heart was running now, marathon style. He pushed himself up straighter grimacing at the pain that shot through his ribs. " What talk?" he growled.

" That... Well... I'm not really sure. Just that you said something or did something to – you know – _deserve_ what Teyla did to you."

John would have bet his next paycheck that all the talk had been perpetuated by most of the Atlantis women folk. Maybe a few of the male populace with the hots for Teyla kept it alive, but it was the women who gave themselves cricks in the neck trying to listen in on every conversation for juicy gossip. A few of the women also scrounged for anything to use to gang up on the men. Even amongst the stars and the wonders of another galaxy, people still managed to never get a life.

John gave himself a moment to grind his teeth in frustration before speaking. " The Teyla thing I'm still figuring out," he admitted. " But, come on doc... Ronon? Not even McKay gets Ronon pissed enough to discharge his frickin' _precious_. And I didn't even know that other guy. And he was the one who jumped me! Ronon... I don't know. All I do know is that he sure as hell wasn't riding in to my rescue and that's got me a little freaked."

Carson folded his arms and gnawed his lower lip thoughtfully. " You've got a point about Ronon. And you're sure you've never met Dr. Robinson before?"

" No! I don't even know whose damn team he's on. Carson, scout's honor I know for a _fact_ that I never said or did anything to piss Ronon and the other guy off, the other guy especially. Where is the other guy anyways, and Ronon?"

Caron jerked a thumb over his shoulder. " Dr. Robinson's still unconscious. Strapped down so no fretting there. Ronon's in his quarters under guard."

John nodded but gulped. As much as he liked the big guy, caging him in his quarters felt like the equivalent of caging a tiger in a cardboard box. Because he liked the big guy – irate or not – John wasn't going to suggest tossing him in the brig. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all this.

" There has to be a reasonable explanation for all this," Carson said, and John flinched giving the physician an odd look. Carson didn't notice. He was too busy being pensive. " But this being the Wonderland of the universe, I think it best not to take chances. I've already taken a blood sample from Robinson so I think I'll nab a thimble-full from Ronon."

" Has anyone talked to Ronon yet?" John asked.

Carson shook his head. " Not yet. We thought we'd give him a moment to cool down."

The infirmary doors whispered open, putting a lull in the conversation when Weir walked in. Her sights went straight to John, and a smiled curled her lips.

" Look who's awake? How is he, Carson?"

" Right here," John said. " Within perfect hearing range."

Carson grinned, unfolding his arms. " He'll be fine but bloody sore for a wee bit longer than the last time he was here." Carson dropped the smile, going into full doctor mode. " The minor crack in his rib is a little less minor, and two others have joined it. We've got 'em bound and they shouldn't be a problem as long as he refrains from doing anything strenuous."

Weir nodded. " And Rodney?"

Carson moved around both the bed and Elizabeth to get to Rodney's bed. " I was just about to wake him."

John watched as Carson shook Rodney's shoulder.

" What happened, John?"

John cringed. He was hesitant about turning his head back around, but did. First, he slapped on the puppy dog eyes. " Please don't force me to figure it out."

Then came Carson to the rescue.

" He doesn't know," Beckett said with his hand still shaking Rodney's shoulder. " And you've gotta admit, Elizabeth, it's bloody weird. I know the Colonel has his moments where you want to strangle him..."

John scowled.

" But Ronon taking down Rodney and half a team of marines just to get back at Sheppard for something's a bit extreme, even for Ronon. And Dr. Robinson would be more inclined to go after Rodney than Sheppard..."

" And I've never even met Dr. Robinson," John quickly added. " Let's focus on that."

Weir nodded, and John was relieved to see Carson's pensive expression was contagious. John wasn't up to getting tangled in the 'guess who John pissed off this time' grapevine. Not that he suspected Elizabeth a closet member of the rumor mill, but people were learning this stuff somewhere. Mini-mikes planted in Weir's office and the mess, very possible...

Paranoia sucked.

" I heard you and Teyla had a rough match," Elizabeth said.

John's stomach clenched. Damn rumor mill.

" Why didn't you tell me?"

John shrugged helplessly. " I was going to..."

A groan from Rodney became the blessed interruption John needed. All attention fell to Rodney slowly squirming awake with a face pinched in discomfort.

" Come on Rodney," Carson urged. " Get those eyes open already."

Rodney lifted his noodle-limp hand and flapped it back and forth. " Volume control, Carson. Volume control. Too damn loud."

Carson smiled. " Sorry. Headache?"

" Killer headache."

Carson had the answer to that in the form of a syringe that he stuck into Rodney's I.V. port. Seconds after, Rodney's face stopped trying to scrunch itself into oblivion. Another few seconds and Rodney finally opened his eyes that roamed searchingly before landing on Sheppard.

Rodney's face returned to scrunching, this time in a scowl. " About time you woke up. What the hell is wrong with you!?" Rodney's own heart monitor had skipped the jog and went straight to the marathon. " Is there some kind of... Guinness Book of World's Record for getting a whole lot of people to kill you because I think you could qualify!"

Carson laid his hand on Rodney's chest. " Rodney, I need ya to calm down."

" Calm down? Calm down! Col. 'let's piss everyone off' has some kind of unspoken bounty on his head that nearly got me killed, and he wasn't much help despite the fact that he was the one who was being attacked."

Carson patted Rodney's shoulder good-naturedly. " Rather hard to do much with cracked ribs, and that includes breathing."

" So if it's any consolation," John said. " Look at it as you saving my life and I now owe you one – again." A hard thing to admit, but John supposed Rodney deserved it. It also did the job of placating Rodney as far as Rodney could be placated.

" You do," Rodney said. " So do you know what you said to Robinson and Ronon or are you still in the dark about that too?"

" I didn't even know Robinson, McKay."

Carson heaved a heavy sigh. " I think I'm going to look into Robinson's blood work. I know Robinson enough from doing his physicals to know he's not a man who gets a bug up his arse easily, even around Rodney."

Rodney squinted. " Hey."

Carson shook his head while ignoring Rodney's protest. " This is getting odd, Elizabeth, and a little out of hand."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. " You're probably right. For now I think two guards should be posted in the infirmary, and until you know more, Carson, Colonel Sheppard should remain here."

" Hey," John argued, so Weir ignored him.

" I'm going to have a talk with Teyla, see if her confrontation with John was personal or if there's something else going on," she said. " No offense, John, but I honestly hope it was personal."

John opened his mouth for another protest, then snapped it shut. It was time to be honest; he hoped it was personal as well. Sticking with the honest, he was starting to suspect that it probably wasn't. Teyla dealt with ill treatment from minor to major in two ways – the cold shoulder and laying flat the offender in an innocent stick match _without_ any necessary blood shed. Teyla had the emotional discipline of a preschool teacher. The Bruce Lee moves she reserved for those who would dare lay a finger on her precious charges, and woe betide those on the wrong end of that scenario.

John gave Elizabeth a helpless smile. She returned it with a grin of reassurance, then patted his arm before exiting, tapping her com along the way to call in the needed security. John shifted trying to get into a more comfortable position, only to grimace at the alternating fire and ice knifing through his chest.

The all seeing Carson didn't miss the reaction, and didn't bother asking any redundant questions. A Syringe and meds were already at the ready on a tray next to John's bed. Carson filled the needle and expunged it into the I.V. catheter. " This may make you a bit drowsy, lad."

John gulped. " Sure that's a good idea?" The thought of hovering in lethargy while unknown assassins could still be lurking about made his heart double time it, and the monitor blab about it. The all seeing Carson didn't depreciate John's current state.

" You'll be all right," he assured soothingly. " I'll be sticking around to keep an eye on things. This is my domain and I'll not have a patient injured while in it, you can be sure of that." Carson said it with a very comforting conviction that allowed John to relax a little. Carson lowered the bed and John burrowed himself into the pillow. With a reaffirming clap on the shoulder, Carson left John to doze.

" Is there really something going on?" Rodney asked.

John didn't answer. The meds worked fast, and John found the effects too pleasant to waste energy on replying.

_ssssssssssssssssssssss _

Rodney wasn't happy. How was he supposed to sleep when there was an epidemic of anti-Sheppard insanity spreading like the plague? It wouldn't have been a big deal if Rodney was anywhere but right smack next to Sheppard. Crazy people did crazy things to helpless bystanders.

Rodney rolled his head full of jackhammers and tap-dancers in Sheppard's direction. Damn the man. It was hard to be pissed at him when he was looking all bruised, pale, and stinking helpless. It was also hard to admit that as much as the man could pluck nerves like a banjo, he never crossed lines that incited homicidal behavior. Maybe homicidal rage, just never behavior. Okay, maybe not rage. Was there such a thing as homicidal annoyance?

Rodney rolled his head back up and groaned. He wanted to sleep but wasn't going to take any chances, not around Sheppard.

So when the shuffle and grunts of a scuffle came, Rodney was awake to hear it. Simply raising his head an inch off the pillow pushed the tap-dancers into a shuffle, forcing him to drop his head.

He ignored the tattooing at the spine-tingling whine and pulse of a stunner, and snapped his head up to see only one of Sheppard's security detail striding toward his charge. Rodney honestly hoped he never saw the kind of murderous rage he saw on that baby-faced marine again. He shrank back against the pillows as the kid brushed past. On the plus side, Rodney saw no P-90 or pistol on the boy. The kid even dropped the hand-held stunner letting it clatter to the floor.

Rodney almost laughed at the stupidity of dropping any kind of a defensive device. He stopped laughing when the kid reached out like an extra in a bad zombie movie, and wrapped his fingers around John's throat. John's body jolted in immediate reaction but the happy juice had dulled down his muscles to slabs of useless meat. He gripped at the kid's wrists trying to pull them away with as much result as a three year old trying to shove a truck aside.

Rodney watched on in muted horror, because this wasn't supposed to be happening. Sheppard was the boss, the leader, the puppet master of the grunt brigade. Baby-faced marines and trigger-happy boys and girls were supposed to ask how high when Sheppard told them to jump. Thank goodness for panic, because it smacked Rodney from his trance allowing his brain to shoot off at a mile a second. Ignoring the San Andreas Fault trying to form in his skull, Rodney whipped his head around for a weapon and grabbed the nearest item. He hurled the metal bed pan at John's attacker. In that heartbeat of a moment, Rodney managed to ponder why a bedpan had been placed on the table by his bed, and be disgusted by it, when the pan clanged against the marine's thick skull.

The kid released Sheppard to grab the back of his head. The murderous gaze was turned on Rodney, and the murderer advanced.

" Crap, damn it, Carson!" Rodney shrieked, and if he sounded like a little girl then so be it. At least they were louder. " Carson! Sheep in trouble, sheep in trouble!"

The kid's hands filled Rodney's vision. There was a whine, pulse, then thump of a body hitting the floor. The kid had vanished, revealing Carson like a cheap magic trick. Carson had the discarded stunner in his shaking hand, while behind him a red-scrubbed nurse was holding an oxygen mask to Sheppard's face.

Next to homicidal glares, Rodney hoped to never see that level of terror on John again. The Colonel's heart monitor was going at a continuous shriek.

" Easy Colonel," the nurse soothed. " Slow, deep breaths."

The monitor calmed. Sheppard, however, looked anything but calm, and it was scaring Rodney. Carson was busy taking the strangler's vitals. He looked away from the kid, over at a still gasping John, then at Rodney.

" What the bloody hell was that all about?"

The world tilted and whirled merrily around Rodney's head. He opened his mouth with comments about Sheppard owing him for years to come. His shrieking brain had other ideas, and had his body lurching to the side just as Rodney's once hardy breakfast made a comeback in liquid form.

TBC...


	5. The Force is Strong with This One

_A/N: The muses have now started yelling something about wanting Hossenfeffer and are now chasing the bunnies around with large spoons. It is entirely too strange here! Many thanks and lots of virtual chocolate and/or cooked rabbit if the muses catch their little fluffy tails to all of you!_

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Chapter 5

The Force Is Strong with This One

The blood was pounding in his ears and he did not have a clue about what just happened. No, that was not entirely correct. Cpl. Hernandez just about crushed his windpipe and…well, crushed windpipe summed it all up quite nicely.

The drugged sleep had impeded John's reaction time. At first, his very muddled brain insisted that this was a bizarre joke. Then, it caught up with the fact it was starving for oxygen. And then, it panicked from restricted blood flow-- something silver saved his life as his thick, uncooperative hands fumbled with trying to remove wrists from his throat about as effectively as building a prison out of rice paper.

He also had an image of bleating of sheep…

Finally, he feebly tried to wrap his mind around what could have possibly been colliding with the Sergeant's head…Rodney! Where was Rodney? His eyes searched frantically and then as the den of noise in his ears starting to fade and the oxygen made it to his brain, the sickening splat of liquid hitting a hard floor oozed through his panic and fog.

He brought the mask, the nurse's hand, and his own hand, covering both, along for a ride so he could turn his head to look at his friend. Rodney was hunched over with Carson soothing him. After a second or two, a nurse helped to pull him back to the center of the bed while someone cleaned up the floor. Sheppard looked quickly away before his mask was filled with partially digested muffin in a show of sympathy.

Now that his brain had started to function, he realized that Cpl. Hernandez should not have been strangling him at all. Enlisted men definitely fantasize about doing just that to their superior officers all the time. But the military usually frowned upon the action if taken, even if it was John Sheppard on the receiving end. Body Snatchers, Pod People, the Blob-- something was wrong in Atlantis. This was too concentrated an effort just because he might have ticked off Teyla or even Ronon.

He pulled the mask away. "I need to speak to Elizabeth, _immediately_." He didn't recognize his voice as it whispered out with a raspy rattle.

"I've already called her," Carson replied. "Carla! Call everyone who's on next shift to come in, we've got a problem!"

"Problem?" Rodney said facetiously. "Carson, we've got more than just a problem. Problems are the power going out, the water not working, or the Gate cutting you in half. _This _is a catastrophe!" he forcefully said pointing at Sheppard.

Rodney sat straight up suddenly and the nurse put a basin under his chin. John looked away again. He was finally calming down and did not want to have a basin shoved under his chin. He was-- oh hell, he had to admit it to himself-- frightened half out of his skull, but calming down nicely, thank you very much. At least, he wasn't puking…yet.

_Okay, think John…Teyla, Ronon, Robinson, Hernandez…what did these people have in common? _

"Make sure he's secure!" Carson called out as he moved towards his other two patients across the room-- his two homicidal patients.

"Rodney, where's Robinson work?" John hoarsely rasped.

Rodney took a sip of water and spit it out into the basin.

"Maps." He sank backwards and closed his eyes. "A little closet of an office near Biology. I think he shares it with one other person…Figgy-Piggy-Ziggy…something with an iggy sound."

Damn, Sheppard had only been down to Biology once to initialize a glorified heat lamp. Some sort of incubation device, and that was last year or the year before…he could not even remember when because it had been so long.

Hernandez was at the end of his rotation on infirmary detail and at the end of his current tour. He'd be returning Earthside on the next Daedalus run. They might have met in the mess or in the halls. They definitely met at orientation. Lorne said he was a good competent soldier and would be asked back…well, that was about to be reevaluated.

He looked at the nurse still holding the mask and spoke through it. "I need Maj. Lorne."

She shook her head not understanding and lifted the mask off of his face. He repeated the request.

He let the nurse replace the mask and began reconstructing the attack. Hands holding him down, cutting off his breath, laughing with delight…but that last bit was not the corporal. Something besides imminent death had frightened him. Something else had completely startled him. Something had been watching from inside Cpl. Hernandez's body or mind. Something had been enjoying the show and had been laughing. Something wanted him dead.

He started laughing and knocked the mask away. It was the hysterical laughter of overwrought, near death nerves or an oxygen starved mind-- take your pick. Another someone or something out there thought Lt. Col. John Sheppard was a threat to be eliminated. He laughed even harder. So much attention for a man considered a blight on the Air Force's books just a couple of years ago. He put it in perspective, he still played the glorified light switch on some days and a taxi cab driver on others.

"Carson!" Rodney shouted as beeps started picking up and Sheppard's maniacal laughter echoed around the room. "Carson, I think the problem is over here now!"

He laughed until his chest hurt and his muscles throbbed and the coughing stopped it. "No Rodney," his breathless gasp answered, "I just recognized the problem. Their metachlorian count is too high." John practically pushed the nurse with the mask down to get that part out.

"It's a little side effect of no oxygen coupled with lunatics," relayed Carson as he injected something else into Sheppard's I.V. "He can try to use the force later."

The hysterical laughter died away in jerky, hiccupping increments as Sheppard let the induced sleep treat him to a dreamland movie.

-------------------

"I've been trying to get the blue Jell-o from the cafeteria all afternoon. Wish my metachlorian count was high, even if it is a contrivance," McKay replied sulkily.

Carson stood straight up and looked at Rodney. "You both have given me an idea. Goslyn, Sharp get the scanner warmed up! Get those two ready to be scanned," Carson directed two techs standing near the scanner.

"Rodney, we might have a big problem if my hypothesis is correct. I think the Colonel just solved the riddle."

Rodney used his abnormally large intellect and became worried. If Carson's line of inquiry was going where he thought…

"Oh hell Carson, how did they get back here? When did they get back here?" Rodney practically gagged on the last word.

Elizabeth and Major Lorne entered the infirmary together as Rodney asked his question. "Who?" they asked in unison.

"The Asurans," Carson answered for Rodney because Rodney's head was bent over a basin again.

Elizabeth's eyes widened in justified fear and Lorne just winced in sympathy.

"Oh, that who," she answered in a low, monotone voice.

"We may already be too late for isolation procedures. This has probably spread across disciplines already if these two gentlemen are any indication. We may have to EMP the entire base once again…" Carson walked quickly over to the scanner as the technicians readied it for use.

He stopped abruptly. "Elizabeth, did you talk to Teyla, yet?" He turned around warily to gauge her reaction.

She shook her head and said, "No Carson, I never made it."

Carson let out a relieved breath and continued to the big device as the area was screened off.

"Lorne, everyone in the military who has the ATA gene needs to be informed and mustered in the Gate room. Also, those without it, need to remain where they are." Elizabeth followed Carson into the area. "She looked over her shoulder at the major. "Do it now, please."

He paused and gave her a calculating look. In the end, he just nodded and left.

Elizabeth stopped, backtracked to Sheppard's bed, and looked down at him like a bug under a microscope. Rodney watched her and decided to input his buck fifty bit of advice.

"Tough day being his friend. Don't stand too close or someone may come after you…" Rodney stopped, she was a little too intent upon Sheppard. "You didn't see Teyla, but who else have you seen, Elizabeth?"

"No one Rodney. I've only seen Major Lorne. I'm fine, Dr. McKay." She walked back to the scanner area and out of sight without so much as a by your leave.

Rodney McKay never really considered himself intuitive in the ways of people, but something was just plain off about Elizabeth. He looked around for the nurse only to find her mysteriously gone. Okay, now the neck hairs were standing up.

He closed his eyes and willed the double vision to heal itself. When that did not happen, he said screw it and got up….and kept right on going until his knees hit the floor along with his hands. His nose stopped not too far from the tile-like surface and…oh gross, it was wet from his viewing of Sheppard's earlier immolation problem. He gagged, again. Concussion had nothing to do with it at all, no siree. He crawled on all fours to the screened off area and did not hear any of the machines buzzing, but heard lots of talking.

"…sorry it has to be this way, Carson…"

"…really wish you weren't influenced by them…"

"…saw Lt. Cadman, says she's sorry…"

Blah, blah, murderous blah.

Where had Carson put that stunner? On all fours, Rodney looked on top of tables and chairs until he found it sitting next to his full basin. The gross factor was mounting as his hand went into the chunky surprise first before landing on the stunner. He fought not to add anymore to the floor.

And where were the ATA guards? In the Gate Room…

Oh no, where was a radio when he needed it!

Sheppard slept blissfully unaware that anything was still wrong. Damn Carson, why did he have to give Sheppard a sleeping potion?

As Rodney crawled and squelched along the floor, he heard noise from behind him. The door opened admitting a few more to the party--

--and they were armed.

--------------------

Carus thought, and she liked to think a lot, that she had been going about this all wrong. Too haphazard, too emotional, too much like a human. Yet, it was a human that had constructed a plan. It was a human who had helped her to focus. She had to gain control of vital areas. Carus stood in front of Ronon Dex's door and directed the guard escorting her to release him. The original guard with the piece of her Pater's race lay dead on the floor. There was no more time for niceties. It was time for action and who better than this hunter before her.

Dr. Weir had learned a lot from her mutt of a second in command. Lt. Cadman also had certain tactical expertise that enhanced her own. She directed Ronon to hunt all Wraith invading the infirmary. Next, she called Teyla from her quarters. They would take the center of power and Carus would rule.

And then, as if she had just wished it to be so, they took the center with ease. Those with the gene were disabled, termination to be carried out later. However, those without the gene, she welcomed to the fold.

Her army, swift and victorious, beheld all that was rightly hers. Carus stood with Teyla Emmagan and looked out onto the Operations Complex. The term 'Gate Room' was too base, too human. She felt her pride swell at already having the nerve center under her control. She proved herself worthy of commanding the great cityship. She was emulating what her father had obviously originally planned for himself and for her. She realized her need for domination to its fullest extent; she was the only one who could truly lead.

Father had abandoned her. Father was not coming back. His people were not coming back. The city now belonged to the rightful heirs. The city belonged to those that had thrived without interference of her father's race. Now she understood why Father had kept her identity a secret. His people were jealous of how quickly those like her could adapt. The city belonged to them, not these pretenders, not these tree swinging primates. She had loved her father, but his people's time had come and gone.

Since he had betrayed her trust in the end, it was time to welcome the Asurans back to their ancestral home.

"Dial the gate."

The technician did as commanded. The gate whirled and the lights spun on the inner part of the ring. Her newly acquired goal was so close. The time came for the final symbol to beckon across the galaxy to her lost family and nothing happened. The seventh chevron did not lock so the wormhole did not engage.

"What happened?" She demanded.

"I'm not sure…"

"Fix it."

"I'm not sure we can if it's a problem on their end."

"Try _again_."

She searched memories of those that had been there and realized the Ring had been on the cityship they had destroyed. But surely they had replaced it? If they had, maybe the address changed or …

She panicked; she couldn't live with these lesser beings by herself. They were nothing, less than nothing. To prove it, she pushed one of the members over the balcony. The insignificant lump of flesh's neck broke on impact with the floor below her. She looked at her appendages-- no one winced; no one cared.

Next thing she noticed was that not one of the ATA gene carrying soldiers was arriving in the Complex. She had been so focused on the wormhole that noncompliance with her order had gone unnoticed. Apparently, they did not follow along as blindly as she had hoped.

Who knew the secret? Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay…possibly a few others…definitely Sheppard. Somehow he had seen her. He had known she was there when she had suggested to that young marine to kill the bastard who had raped his sister…a phantom sister since the stooge was an only child. She had found a way around murdering the mutts. Make those she controlled see things that would put them into the frame of mind to do homicide. Simplistic, yet effective.

Sheppard had seen her or, maybe, felt her. The connection was strange and beautiful. She could bend him to her will only with her touch, but the little pieces of her in the others only provided information. It took physical contact with the gene carriers to influence them; her nanites went inert as soon as contact was broken. It was a very dangerous complication.

"Round up anyone with the gene and put them in the prison cell," she directed some to act and some to remain hidden. She did not have everyone and could not control more than ten or twelve at a time on intricate and directed work. But there was no need of direct control for every task, so they could go about their duties without her constant supervision.

She could not kill everyone yet. She might need some of them to run things that the others could not. The Ring technician entered the last symbol and waited for her to press the last button. As if answering her thoughts, Atlantis decided to side with the squatters after she tried to engage the wormhole herself. Atlantis sent her a message of error and refused access to anyone. Atlantis shut down and plunged the entire place into darkness.


	6. What Do We Do for a Living, Ladies?

A/N: _The plot bunnies have saved their own furry hides by taking Carson's advice and sacrificing a chicken (seems McKay was right all along). The muses are feasting on hot-wings, the bunnies on carrots, and all are basking in the reviews. Noise makers for everyone!  
_

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Chapter 6

What Do We Do for a Living, Ladies?

" Dr. McKay. You all right?"

Rodney was pretty certain an Asuran infested body wouldn't start of with such pleasantries. Physical pain was more their cup of tea. And that slight Cajun accent didn't exactly scream nanite infestation. Rodney's body felt capable of melting into a puddle, only to snap back into form when he recalled the little debacle on the other side of the screen.

" No I'm not all right! Do I look all right? What about any of this looks all right!" McKay would have killed for a sedative if things hadn't sucked so bad. The young marine – a little less baby-faced than his schizophrenic counter part – made a move toward McKay at the exact same instance Elizabeth stepped out. Her serene smile made Rodney's skin want to crawl off his bones and hide.

" Gentlemen, and ladies. What can I do for you?"

The young marine halted in his tracks. "Uh, Dr. Weir, ma'am. Major Lorne sent us. Seems we got some kind of an internal scuffle and were told to secure the infirmary..."

" Oh," she said with that sugar coated serenity that Rodney's stomach didn't like. " All right then. Well, as you can see, except for Dr. McKay's little trip off the bed, everything's fine. Why don't you secure the infirmary outside the doors. There's patients trying to sleep." She flicked her hand casually, almost indifferently, in Col. Sheppard's direction.

Rodney's heart tried to shrivel to the size of a prune, his throat with it. " Wha...?" he squeaked. " No!" he squeaked louder. " Everything is not fine! Everything is the opposite of fine. She's been infested Sargent!"

The one positive Rodney could grudgingly hand to marines was their superb ability not to piddle around gaping like kids who just saw their dog get run over. Weapons were brought up quicker than Rodney could blink. Stunners, thank goodness, because Rodney was pretty sure Elizabeth's day was already bad enough.

Elizabeth's smile didn't budge. " Sargent, really, it's all right. I'm not the one infested. Dr. McKay is. Could you help him back into his bed? Dr. Beckett was just about to run a scan..."

" Don't listen to her!" Rodney screeched. " Oh gosh. Come on, people! Just look at her. You can tell she's infected."

Well, actually, they probably couldn't tell, not if they were newbies. And it wasn't like the marines hung around the high-ranking civilian personnel on a regular basis.

Elizabeth sighed heavily. " Please, Sargent," she took a step forward. " Just lower your weapons, it's all right..."

" It's not all right! Where the hell is Beckett, he'll tell you..."

" Sargent..."

The poor kid's head looked ready to explode as he whipped his stunner back and forth. Suddenly, there was a hum, zap, flash of blue, and Elizabeth began to crumple to the floor. Rodney slid forward just in time and in the right spot to keep her from becoming a concussion buddy. Then all eyes turned to the trigger happy savior of the day.

Private Johansen – female, young, African American, short, and looking rather sheepish – lowered her wraith stunner. " Dr. McKay was right, sir, Dr. Weir is infected."

Rodney rolled his eyes ceiling-ward, and this time let his body melt. " Oh thank whatever deity any of you happen to believe in. How'd you know?"

Again with the sheepish look. " Girl's poker night." She shrugged. " Good way to get to know people."

" Then thank goodness for girl's poker night. Someone get Dr. Weir onto a bed, and someone else check on Carson."

Staff Sgt. Riley, Pvt. Johansen, and two other marines lifted Elizabeth as though she was fine China and set her on the nearest unoccupied bed. Two other marines vanished behind the screen only to emerge seconds later carrying an unconscious Beckett between them. They man-handled him just as carefully onto another bed. With those two bodies taken care of, two other marines aided Rodney in his journey back to his feet. His head swam as though his skull were filled with more liquid than brain. He was guided back to his bed, then into his bed where he sank with a happy sigh into the mattress and pillows.

" Okay, my heroism for the day is complete. Everyone here got the ATA gene?"

" Yes sir," said Riley. " A nice mix of natural n' artificial. Major Lorne was quite clear that this be a ATA gene party only."

" Major Lorne needs to be promoted. All right, people, do your securing the infirmary thing. If there's any nurses around, keep the ones with the genes around and the rest... I don't know, chase them out or lock them up somewhere but what ever you do – for the love of everything – don't let them near Colonel Sheppard, especially if they have a syringe. Hell, don't even let the ones with the gene near him as they could be lying. Don't let anyone near him except Dr. Beckett."

As though the man's name were a magic word, there came a groan, and every head whipped around in the doctor's direction.

" Oh bloody hell," Carson groaned. " What's the bloody number of that Mack truck that hit me?"

Rodney straightened. " Carson. You all right? Pins and needles?"

" Try headache from Hades. The lass clocked me a good one on the noggin' using me own microscope. Where's Becky, or Carla. I need someone with medical training to check me for a concussion."

Carla was the one brought in after a simple ATA test was performed – having an LSD thrust into her hands. It had activated for her, but not for Becky. The two women had been oblivious to the entire goings on being pact into a closet doing mind-numbing inventory. Becky was sent with two guards to the farthest reaches of the infirmary where she could do no harm. Only four other nurses were scrounged up – ATA, both of them. The rest were mysteriously AWOL.

" Pupils are reactive," Carla said, and Rodney smiled smugly at the vindication of Carson being on the wrong end of the pen light. " The hit must not have been too bad but I'm betting there'll be a nice goose-egg on your head in a few minutes."

" Aye, love," Carson said, pushing Carla's hand away. " Hazards of the job in the Pegasus galaxy. I believe the knock to my head was more a spur of the moment reaction than an intent to kill me. Dr. Weir wanted to keep me quiet. Help me up. And no arguing otherwise. I was in the middle of something before I was rudely interrupted."

Carla rolled her eyes but complied. She helped ease Carson from the bed, even taking some of his weight when he staggered a bit. The man was a bit of a hypocrite. The moment Carson ragged on Rodney or Sheppard about getting out of bed too soon, Rodney was bringing this moment up and getting Carla's testimony to back it.

Staff Sargent Riley turned to Dr. McKay. " If you don't mind my inquirin', Dr. McKay. What's goin on? What's with all the gene versus no gene thing?"

Rodney rubbed his forehead to ease the slight tilt of the room. " For the most part it's a theory but one that seems to be coming true. It also proves that me and Carson think too much alike and that's scaring the hell out of me. We think this is some kind of Asuran invasion – nanites. Nanites with a grudge against your CO. So far, the only thing the infected have in common is that none of them have the ATA gene.

" So it's a good thing I disobeyed a direct order," Lorne said on striding in accompanied by two more gene carrying grunts. " Where's the doc, doc?"

" Proving a theory," Rodney said.

" Well he'd better hurry because we have a major freakin' problem. What ever's going on, it's going on fast. We've got our own guy's on our tail and while we're shooting to stun, they're shooting to kill. I've started rounding up as many ATA gene carriers as I can, sending them deeper into the city. The jumper bay's been compromised so we can't get out that way. Oh, and the cherry on top is that we're being systematically hunted down."

Rodney sagged. " Oh gosh, we're going to die."

" Not if you and Dr. Beckett can figure out what the hell is going on. The only plus to all this is that Atlantis isn't cooperating with the intruders. I don't know if this is something conscious or if the city's acting on a program, but being able to lock all the doors have made all the difference. It's taking the infected scientists a long time to override the systems, long enough for everyone to get far enough away."

Rodney nodded, not feeling particularly uplifted but a little less doomsday depressed. Then curiosity crept up behind him, and he began clicking his fingers rapidly.

" Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Hold up. There's no way the Asurans should have found their way in, even if they did manage to find another 'gate. After the insurgence me and Zelenka did a little poking around. We found something, like an anti-Asuran program, some kind of failsafe in case they try to infect. Except it wasn't on, which I can only assume was because it wasn't a primary system so had to be manually rebooted..."

A simple glare from Lorne cut the diatribe short.

" Okay, anyways," Rodney said. " We rebooted it. For the most part, however, from what we could determine, the most this failsafe does is keep any present Asuran or Asuran type being from accessing the gate. From our world to theirs and from their world to ours. Locking out an address doesn't ensure it'll keep the unwanted neighbors out as they can still dial to us. This program works both ways. Kind of complicated but it works. So there's no way an Asuran or nanite could have snuck in, not through the gate, not through a ship, no way."

" So what are you saying, doc?" Lorne asked. The young marine was looking tense and ready for a fight, which made Rodney nervous.

" I'm saying that..." What was he saying? " I'm saying that... The threat was already here. Maybe hiding, lying dormant, like that wraith virus on the Daedalus. So there's a source. We need to find the source. The lab where these things came from, the Asuran breeding the little snots. Find the source we find the means to shut them down – hopefully. I doubt we'll manage an EMP pulse big enough to clear everyone..."

" And it would be bloody dangerous to the infested," Carson called. " These buggers are in deep, invading vital systems. We don't know what an EMP pulse would do to the human element. The nanites could be embedded enough to die and take their hosts down with them."

Catastrophe. Hadn't Rodney said that? Big, Apocalyptic catastrophe.

Lorne put his hand to his ear, ducking his head as he listened to the voice over his com. " Damn it!" he snarled. " Docs! You need to take Sheppard and get the hell out of here. We've got infested heading our way."

Carson, followed by a gaggle of his ATA nurses, flocked around Sheppard's bed while two other nurses fetched wheel chairs for Sheppard and Rodney. Rodney was aided into his chair, but it took Carson and his nurses to lift the unconscious Sheppard from the bed to the chair, dragging the I.V. pole along for the ride. Both men were covered by a blanket.

" What about Dr. Weir?" Lorne asked.

" Don't take this the wrong way, but she's kind of a lost cause," Rodney scowled.

" Aye," said Carson. " She'll be fine here. Tracy, love, would you and Carla get Corporal Carlton into a chair? Unless you can wake him, he was only stunned."

When everyone was situated and Carleton awake rather than slumped in a third chair, Lorne led the way out of the infirmary, sending two marines ahead to secure the corridors. They moved swift and silent as they could in the opposite direction of the gateroom with Sgt. Riley and Pvt. Johansen taking point.

" Where are we going exactly?" Beckett whispered. Definitely the time when whispering was appropriate.

" Away for now," Lorne replied. " We'll figure out the rest as we go along."

" Good plan," Rodney grumbled. " There's gotta be a lab, some place where these suckers were being bread like with the nano-virus. We need to find that lab and my money's on the one we tripped into during our last explore of the city. We haven't found any other labs since then..."

A groan brought Rodney's attention to Sheppard. The Colonel was stirring, his head flopping as though his neck were a limp noodle, and Rodney saw the man's eyelashes flutter.

" No... Not..."

Rodney rolled his eyes, which made the room wobble and his stomach lodge a formal complaint.

" He's delirious."

Carson reached forward to squeeze the doped Colonel's shoulder. " Easy lad. I know this isn't fun for you but it's necessary."

John pulled in a breath, winced, and coughed painfully. Carla – or was it Tracy – had a mini-tank of oxygen and a mask already. She pressed it to Sheppard's face as he moved, but after a moment he shoved it away, arching his head back.

" Not... Person... Someone trying to... It wasn't that marine. Someone else. I saw them. Or felt... Felt them, saw what they saw." He squinted. " Really freaky."

" What's he goin' on about?" Carson asked.

Rodney was all ready with a comment concerning oxygen deprivation combined with drugs being a big mistake. Luckily, Rodney's logic managed to work faster than his mouth and began piecing the tid-bits together.

Not really much to piece together. Nanites didn't hold grudges unless programmed to. Someone was controlling these things, giving them complex instructions beyond merely kill, kill, kill. Had the robotic bugs been programmed then left to their devices, Elizabeth wouldn't have wasted her time clocking Carson and then attempting to dismiss the marines. She would have gone straight on to trying to kill Sheppard.

These bugs were acting smart, way too smart, Asuran complex thinking smart. Give a robot cognitive abilities and they walk all over you in subtle, almost human like ways.

So what they were looking for wasn't so much a what, but also a who.

TBC...


	7. Run Forrest, Run!

_A/N: We are extremely happy that you are reading and enjoying. It has filled the muses bellies with Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Squares and the blender runs with carrot margaritas for the bunnies!_

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Chapter 7

Run Forrest, Run!

Lorne knew he may not be as smart as the obnoxious, wheelchair rider, but his mama did not raise a fool. When Dr. Weir ordered him to muster all ATA gene soldiers in the Gate Room, his own personal Spidey sense went off, screaming, if you will, like a wife at her late and drunk husband. An order to gather everyone together in one spot-- it didn't take a genius.

He immediately found the nearest gene laden person and had them pass the word to any other gene laden person to get the hell out of Dodge, hide like the kid playing kick-the-can. The game encouraged the players to move around but to remain hidden while the kid who was "it" guarded the can and sought them out. The one who was "it", had to call out the name of the kid hiding and his location. If the hider moved before his location was given or the caller gave the wrong name, then the player stayed in the game. He had to set up rallying points as people gathered and he had to keep them out of sight. Their radios were compromised so they had to use word of mouth. It was inefficient at best and there were probably those that they missed.

Next, they had to make sure everyone had some sort of weapon within each group. Stun weapons, because there was no way he would allow any of those infected to die by his or any other's hand. Third, they needed a place to figure all of this out.

"Billings, you with me?"

"Yes sir."

"You have sight of your objective?"

"Yes sir."

"Occupied?"

"Yes sir."

"Where is he?" McKay demanded in his lowest, staged whisper.

"The chair room," Lorne distractedly replied.

The entire exchange was whispered on both ends. Lorne looked down at his bruised and loopy CO, who was the only one who could confidently use the chair. Beckett was next in line with a lot less confidence and a lot of whining. The rest of them just had not had the opportunity to take their turn.

"We don't need the chair," stressed McKay. "We need to find the point of origin."

"We need a place to monitor, doc," Lorne replied. "Billings, how many?"

"Fifteen sir, including…hold on…" There was a long pause as the group continued to run and push down the corridor. They were traveling farther and farther away from inhabited portions of the city. Pot shots were less now as their pursuers fell or dropped off.

"Four have just left with Ronon. From what I could overhear, they're looking for your party, sir. The colonel in particular, sir."

"That's just great." Lorne knew at some point that Ronon and/or Teyla would enter into it. He also knew that some of the Special Ops. teams would be deployed. But Ronon and Teyla had skills from fighting the Wraith that would work to their advantage and were an unknown quantity to most. And, as luck would have it, the best person to counteract them was in a wheelchair grunting in restrained agony every time they swerved or stopped. Col. Sheppard was in no condition to take on a swarm of love bugs let alone Ronon.

"Thank you sergeant, melt into the woodwork." Lorne clicked off his radio. He hoped that the young man did not just give up his position to give them that late, breaking piece of news. Now, he returned back to their special programming of running for their lives.

"Dr. McKay, we have an easily defensible place coming up…we also have people joining us there…tell me where we need to go."

"As I said before, we need to get back to the medical research facility we were exploring. They conducted this kind of research in some of the labs there. It's the best place to hole up and start looking for a cure."

Lorne amended and added to his assessment of people in no condition to be doing anything. Dr. McKay just made the list. The man was an unhealthy shade of green and wobbled in his seat as the chair slowed to a walk.

"We'll wait at the rallying point for ten minutes, and then move on. Sgt. Riley and Pvt. Williams, this is your spot. Nobody gets past here. Privates Masters, Johansen, you will set up ten yards down that corridor at the T-junction and provide back-up. Anyone with the gene who shows up here is to be sent down to the facility. Anyone without is to be stunned and restrained. No lethal force unless there is no other choice, and I mean the knife is centimeters from your heart and your gun is empty. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

Lorne and the motley crew moved through the T-junction in the corridor to a large open room several floors down from the Control Room.

"Dr. McKay? Is there an engineering room that can be used as a back up to Control?" Lorne asked after everyone was in the large vaulted space.

Rodney swallowed and sighed as he answered, "No need, any of our laptops can tap into the system from different locations around the city. Communications, environmental controls, everything you can think of I can get at with a trusty laptop and wi-fi…except I don't have one. No pockets." He pulled on his scrub shirt with indignation.

"We can take care of that, McKay. Doctor Beckett," Lorne turned to address the CMO as he took Col. Sheppard's vitals for the umpteenth time since they left. "Do you have a who's who of ATA gene carriers, natural and not?"

"Aye and me nurse brought it with us because she's more level headed and less concussed than her boss."

Lorne added another member to the _should-not-be-here _list. Carson had a nice lump forming on the side of his head.

Carla nodded in appreciation as Rodney lost his lunch, breakfast, and spleen, one more time and with great feeling, into a baggie she held for him.

The Colonel however was coming around for a second time. Eyes fluttered and a small groan escaped.

"Oh, hey, the halls have stopped and the fists aren't flying," he weakly pointed out with maybe a smidge of happiness tacked on. His head rolled on his neck like a Mostly un-Dead Dread Pirate Roberts for a second before his command persona appeared. "Major, report."

"We are in a foothold situation, sir…as you may have already figured out by the fingerprints and boot marks on your person. We have taken a wild guess, with Dr. McKay's help, that it's the Asuran's or someone similar. Looks like nanites have gained control of our people." Lorne stopped to let the colonel's brain register and ruminate on the information.

"There's more, isn't there?" Sheppard asked as Lorne grimaced with agitation and kept shifting his feet.

"Dr. McKay…" Lorne pointed to the other wheelchair with the vomiting physicist who waved before gagging again. "Dr. McKay has a theory it was already here and we released it from the labs two days ago."

"The laughing non-marine that tried to strangle me…it was like when Elizabeth had the remnants of Niam in her system. An EMP won't work if they start going au natural and replicate by using organic tissues of the host…"

"Quite correct, Colonel," Beckett chimed in.

"The best chance is in the new…" Rodney swallowed again fighting every revolutionary muscle in his stomach and every pounding blood vessel in his brain to answer. "…labs…they have everything we need and are probably ground zero for the contamination. Which also means we have to be careful…"

"Teyla." Sheppard's eyes lost focus for a second as if recounting something in his head. "She was the first…the last lab…she stopped and just stared at a wall for the longest time…" Whether it was the drugs or the beatings or the strangulation, Sheppard kept pausing. "Asked her if she was all right…"

"I'm fine…" Rodney answered in a slightly higher pitched voice. "Right?"

"Yeah, how'd ya know?"

"That's what Elizabeth said to me…we need to keep them out of the computers and keep Radek from overriding any failsafes or safety protocols…we need to get a laptop."

Footsteps from the secured corridor bounded towards them. For the first time since his stationing on Atlantis, Lorne saw his CO flinch. Then, Sheppard nearly fell out of the chair as he pulled his muscles and ground his bones together in his rib cage. Lorne could not really blame him, wake up and someone who is supposed to be guarding you is choking you…well, Lorne thought he might have been ordering someone to get his wheelchair moving to anywhere but here.

As it turned out, it was more ATA refugees, two from engineering and two from biology. Stroke of genius or luck there…they were the people he needed to see. And they came bearing gifts of computers and LSD's. The entire security contingent and Dr. McKay could have kissed them. Well, in between bouts of vomiting in Dr. McKay's case, but the love shown in his eyes as one of his team handed over a Dell.

"'Bout freakin' time," he graciously snapped at the lowly subordinate.

McKay thanked him further by turning his head and not throwing up on the man's shoes.

Sheppard joined him a minute later in a sympathy puke. Lorne figured it was time to move…Ronon would be able to pick up that scent from the Jumper Bay. Plus, the groans from both with each movement were louder than Lorne liked.

Carson went into physician mode and asked if they could get somewhere where the two could lie down and not get thrown around on Space Mountain. Which, with the lights off and the bubble pillars casting an eerie glow, seemed just about right.

"Let's go." Major Lorne ordered rolling the wagon train farther away from civilization and purposefully did not answer Carson.

-----------------

John could not handle it anymore. Rodney had one last go 'round and John lost his lunch. The only thing was, if it was physically possible, he would have screamed during it because he had never hurt so badly in his life. And then they were moving again and, holy guacamole, that was the worst. The floor was smooth but the turns killed. He would get over it, maybe.

Going back to the beginning-- it was always a good strategy to retrace your steps. It usually worked when he misplaced the keys to his apartment-- when he had keys to an apartment. The bubbles whizzed by, walls with ornate scroll work whizzed by, and more doorways whizzed by…only problem was the marine pushing him was walking. He was so tired; and the day was not over with yet; and his whole body felt like he had been beaten up by a gang of people… oh, right, he had.

He needed to be able to think clear-headed and he could not even stay on one subject for any longer than it took to switch on a light. He needed to plot against the whatever that had taken his city and he could hardly sit and think without wondering Who Framed Roger Rabbit? What had that 'toon been? It had really scary eyes…like the thing that had watched him as he received a good neck wringing.

He just wanted to sleep, but he could not, not yet. He needed to counter Ronon who would figure out where they were and what they were doing and then he needed to find the nearest can to take a leak…fluids, Carson and his damn fluids.

Ronon on his tail was all kinds of bad. He had heard that news through the mountain of fog in his brain. Atlantis was trying to protect with Rodney's help…Elizabeth…did he hear them say something about Elizabeth? Had she gone crackers, too?

"We lost Elizabeth?" he asked whoever could hear him.

"Yes sir," his tram driver answered.

Next stop, Goofy through Pluto, John thought. Everybody off.

"Damn."

"She clocked Carson a good one on his head with a microscope," Rodney almost seemed to enjoy retelling the tale.

"Watch it Rodney, I'm still here with the needle that could make that nausea go away…so you'd better behave."

"Man, no needle or no nausea…choices, Carson, choices."

They continued until they reached a set of stairs. Since Atlantis had shut down, the Transporters were inoperative and it was the old fashioned hoofin' it mode of transportation. Sheppard went to stand and Carson shoved him back down.

"Now there'll be no need for ya to be standing, Colonel Sheppard. We have some strappin' young lads here to take ya down."

Sheppard wanted to crawl under the wheelchair as opposed to Rodney, who was asking for a whip to keep them going. He was just stopping short of yelling, "mush" or "bow before your Pharaoh".

"Thanks Sergeants," Sheppard whispered, embarrassed.

"All in a day's duty, sir."

"Yeah…I don't think so, but nice try."

They reached the bottom and John pretty much thought that his body or pride could not take much more. Carson glided over and slipped a little something in his IV port.

"Won't knock ya out, just relax ya. I've got eyeballs and they're telling' me you are at the end of your endurance." Carson knelt down next to John's chair and kept his voice low as Rodney was placed next to them.

"That made my day," Rodney said gleefully. "That may never happen again…until the next set of steps but that is how I should always be treated. Hey, Hicks! Take note that I want one of those things royalty always got carried around in!"

One of the engineers turned around and mouthed "Bite me."

Lorne came down the stairs interrupting the love fest, "I've got our people falling back as we advance. Dr. McKay, we need the easiest route to the facility; they know where we are. Last time we had transporters and it took us two hours…"

"Give me a second…" Rodney opened the laptop and called up a diagram of the city. All that was missing was a giant red arrow pointing and announcing that, You Are Here! "We can take some of the submerged sections to this point here and start our way back up. We cleared debris from all these passageways before we even went to the facility."

John liked that about Rodney, he usually thought ahead. They cleared everything just in case they needed to walk back. Good man.

"Well the journey of a thousand miles starts with one step…so let's get this caravan movin' out!" Lorne motioned for them to head down a wide corridor.

John decided this was the time to get some much needed sleep and obliged himself of it.

-------------------

_Failsafe! Failsafe! Failsafe! _her neural network screamed at her. Radek had known; she just had not accessed his knowledge. The Atlantians had hated her kind so much that they would not let them back into the city. They loved the seedlings so much that they forsook the other children.

Nothing was working. Atlantis had refused her, a clearly better master than the filth that surrounded her. She calmed herself and vowed (for the moment anyway) not kill everyone until she could dial out and welcome her sisters and brothers home. She also discovered that she could not contact them through subspace. Pater had not activated it or shut it off or never gave it to her in the first place. He had wanted to control her, keep her close.

She was growing to really hate her father. Silbar Fuhs was a wicked man. He had incarcerated her here for all time. He had not thought of her as his daughter. She was just another experiment. As her anger grew, so did her need to wipe out every last one of the curs. It was time to take what was hers. It was time to go find them herself. She would kill each and every last one of them when the time came. Then she would search the Universe for her father's people and eliminate them too.

She looked at Teyla and the other soldiers in the Operations Complex and made some of them follow her. She would get this city running again and then she would live her immortal life as its mistress. It would do her bidding and no one else's. Radek Zelenka, he would be able to override anything…she had not used him enough. She continued to be too emotional. She colored herself disappointed in her performance so far.

Still, soon, all of this _would _be hers.

She entered the corridor and searched for any sign of the almost members of her father's people…and found them. She dispersed her people into the city and found the little mongrels hiding and running like scared and whipped animals. As she walked, more were found and more…the brig would soon be overflowing but she would need them to reactivate the city. She might as well have a big choice. Only those offering up complete resistance or in military garb were immediately taken down.

It would be even better when Ronon found his quarry.

Now that she was concentrating on Zelenka, she learned that two others posed as a great threat to her. They could completely destroy her or keep her from obtaining that which she desired.

She would have Dr. Rodney McKay and Dr. Carson Beckett help her or killed on sight.

Of that, there was no question.


	8. I'm Your Huckleberry

A/N: _The muses are doing karaoke, the bunnies are dancing - it's wild crazy around these parts, all thanks to the reviews. Get your plates ready for carrot cake with a side of whump. _

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Chapter 8

I'm Your Huckleberry

Rats could take a lesson from nanite overrun humans when it came to matters of infestation. The trip to the submerged sections of the city was less of an ordeal with Sheppard asleep. But an unconscious Colonel Sheppard made only a minor dent of difference in that there was less groaning. McKay was a combination package of moans, groans, bitching, and vomit.

All that became background concern at the lightening flashes and loud pings of bullet fire. They were barely at the bottom of the steps when it came, breaking up the caravan to dart behind chunks of debris. It was an old fashioned western shootout, with Atlantis' basement the OK Corral. Bullets pinged, and stunners flashed.

Sgt. Vasquez fancied himself one of the Earp brothers, preferably Wyatt and not the younger one who got killed. Unless that had been a Hollywood reinterpretation of the event. Funny what popped into the head during a crisis. He glanced back over his shoulder at his slumped CO looking pale enough to glow in the dark, then back at the fray. He was a ways back with his charge, with Major Lorne several debris chunks ahead.

"Vasquez, Louis, Carlyle and Davis get the Docs and Colonel Sheppard out of here! We'll cover you! Louis, you and Dr. McKay first since you're farther back!" Lorne shouted.

"What," McKay squeaked. Any further protests were drowned out by stun fire and Lorne screaming for Louis to go. Louis sprung up like a Jack in the Box, grabbed McKay's wheel chair, and huffed it down the darkened corridor."

"Carlyle!"

Carlyle did his own Jack in the Box imitation as he let the electrical pulses fly, with Doc Beckett, his nurse, and the other scientists taking off with heads ducked.

"Vasquez!"

Vasquez's tightly coiled muscles sprung and he was up shoving the wheelchair down the corridor like a shopping cart down the aisle – only without madre Vasquez and a horde of his hermanas screeching at him to stop. He loved military life.

Except for when the bad guys got clever. Nanite infested bodies were worse then rats. A marine popped out of the darkness of an adjacent corridor. The fact that he was holding a nine-mil instead of a stunner screamed hostile. Vasquez lifted his stunner and fired, but the contaminated hostile ducked it and plowed on straight through like a line-backer – right into Col. Sheppard's chair.

Vasquez fired again and the hostile went limp on top of Sheppard's body.

"Son of a bitch!" Vasquez whined, interchanging English swears with Spanish. He shoved the heavy, healthy body of the marine from his CO's more slender and battered body.

There was an explosion, a flash, and a ping that had Vasquez reacting on instinct and covering Sheppard's body with his own.

"Where the hell are they coming from!" he snarled. He yanked the I.V. out and grabbed Sheppard beneath the armpits to make a break for the nearest juncture, taking a right into a hall that hadn't been quite cleared – or drained. Sheppard tensed and gasped when he was accidentally dragged through a rather wide, frigid puddle. Vasquez moved Sheppard around a high pile of junk probably formed during clean up efforts, and set him up against the wall.

Sheppard's eyes were squeezed shut, his head tilted back, and his face twisted in a grimace of agony. And he was shaking like a Chihuahua without it's sweater. Vasquez's heart stuttered.

"Damn it, sir, I'm really sorry about this but we didn't have much choice."

"No... Problem..." Sheppard gritted, breathing rapid through the pain. "Report."

Another bullet pinged off the wall.

"Never... Mind..."

Vasquez popped up and fired back. "Looks like we've been separated, sir. They're all over the place. One tried to face plant you into the floor."

Sheppard's face eased out of its grimace, which meant the pain was abating, and which meant Dr. Beckett's meds were still doing their duty. "Got a spare... stunner? Kind of like... to defend... myself... Here..."

Vasquez pulled the spare from his vest and passed it over. Both men cringe when another bullet tried to zing them. Vasquez tapped his com.

"Mayday, mayday! Major Lorne, Col. Sheppard and I are pinned down by hostiles. We need assistance, repeat, assistance. We're in the second corridor on the right... Argh!"

An invisible fist slammed into Vasquez's shoulder, slamming him back to the floor. Pain ripped through his arm like molten lava dancing to the rhythm of his heart.

" Sargent!" Sheppard cried. His CO's pale face swam into view, and looking a little green around the gills.

"Ah hell," Vasquez gasped. "Sorry sir." Then he smiled through the pain. "Just... Just don't throw up on me sir, please?"

Sheppard smiled. He looked like hell, and his resemblance to a Grim Reaper wasn't helping Vasquez's state of mind.

"Relax Sargent. I'm not quite there yet. Just do me a favor."

"Yes sir?"

"Close your eyes and play dead. Right now you're chopped liver to these people and I'm the main course. They won't mess with you if they think you're dead. It's me they want."

Vasquez wasn't liking the direction of this conversation. "Sir?"

"Play dead, Sargent, that's an order. And apologize to Rodney in advance for me."

Then Colonel Sheppard was gone.

---------------------------

Lorne was having a bad day. Granted everyone was having a bad day, but not everyone was having to juggle shooting, being shot at, and bellowing orders to every clear-headed marine in this city not captured or compromised. Bad Kharma must have been contagious.

Lorne and the remaining marines had knocked the hostiles flat on their ass and down for the count. Once the restraint strips had been tugged on, Lorne and his posse had taken off at a run down the hall. He nearly bypassed the second corridor on the right. Lorne skidded to a stop, back stepped, and stalked into the debris field with the business end of the stunner at the ready.

It didn't take too long to find Vasquez on the floor with one hand clutching his shoulder. He dropped to his knees beside the marine, checked for a pulse, then whipped out a field dressing to press to the younger man's shoulder. Vasquez hissed and snapped his head up.

"Easy Sarge," Lorne said. "It's the calvary. Where's the Colonel?"

Vasquez swallowed tightly. "Gone sir. Just took off. The way he was talking... Sir, I think he's attempting to lead them off."

Lorne balked, gritting his teeth. "Damn it! He's not going to get very far in his condition. Which way'd he head?"

Vasquez pointed with an unsteady finger down the hall. "That way, sir. And he wasn't alone. That hostile that dropped me was following him."

There were not enough swears in the English language or otherwise for a situation like this. Lorne ordered two marines to take Vasquez to the facility. He took only one marine when he headed down the hall to play tag with Col. Sheppard.

--------------------------------

John was insane, off his rocker, one taco short of a combination platter, in pain, dizzy, nauseas, grinning like a lunatic, and knowing exactly what he was doing.

It wasn't a matter of taking on the infestation, it was a matter of being the champion at hide and seek. He'd known the city well enough to beat the Genii when they'd barged in. He'd learned a valuable lesson that day, and afterwards had taken a half hour every day to get to know the layout of the city; from using schematics to jogging to leisurely walks heading no place in particular. He knew his city, its nooks and crannies, rooms that worked and didn't work, and the various scaffolding that could be scaled.

Not that he could scale any scaffolding. He couldn't even stand up straight. In fact he could barely stand. He staggered through the obstacle course of a hall way like a drunk with a concussion, sucking in air through his mouth and exhaling the moment his ribs grated in protest.

Keeping his breathing from being heard was going to be a problem. A lot of things were going to be a problem up until McKay could sort this mess out. John just needed to keep the wolves off the lambs' backs until the lambs could give the wolves rabies. No confrontation, just hiding, being sought, running, and hiding again. Without the city being cooperative to the invaders, it would be a piece of cake. John had even managed to snag Sgt. Vasquez's spare LSD. The man really new the value of spares. John would have bet good money the man probably had a spare tire in his room, because you really never know.

It was all good. Unless the alpha male of the pack – aka Ronon – was on the scent. The man could sniff out the difference between lizard and reptile crap.

John was quite aware of his level of screwed.

_All for the greater good._

Clutching his side, John tucked his armed hand behind his back and crouched cringing like a lost little boy against the wall behind a small mound of metal and electronics. The SGC really needed to toss in a few coins to send out a few janitors.

John heard boots pounding the smooth metal, and the heavy but steady breathing of a physically superior marine. The nanites must have honed all five senses, because the man rounded the pile instead of darting past and back peddling. The man's weapon was raised, but there was hesitation. John had expected this. If there was someone watching behind those vacant eyes, then they were probably drawing this out to savor the moment.

John managed to act faster despite his sluggish state. He whipped out the stunner and sent a blast that had the man doing a little dance before dropping. John didn't hesitate to savor. He crawled forward, hobbling like a three legged dog with one hand still keeping his ribs together. He knelt beside the marine, and leaned in taking the man's face in either hand.

The marine's name was Corporal Haverton – nice guy when he was sane. Really into the WWF, and capable of snapping John in half had he been conscious to do so.

John pried the man's eyelids open, and made a collect call to the weasel with the crazy eyes. "Hey there," he said, smiling like a maniac and trying not to chuckle in the same way. "Anybody home?"

---------------------------

Carus stopped with the abruptness of a shield blinking on before her path, and her lackeys copied exactly.

The cur, she could hear him. She closed her eyes and sought out the synaptic signal of the one hearing the mutt's voice.

The mutt's pale and haggard face blurred and focused in Carus' mind as though he were looking directly at her. Signals fired from her to the one seeing Sheppard, orders to kill, attack, pushing images of hostiles dressed in ragged layers running across hot sand. It took her a moment to realize that there was no responding signals. The one seeing the cur was not conscious.

"I don't know if you can hear me," the cur said. "I'm not even sure if anyone..." he paused, and his brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing. The cur's mouth curled in a rather wild grin. "No, you're there. And hearing me, so listen up. Who ever you are, I'd ask politely for you to pack up and beat a trail right out the stargate, but something tells me you're not the type to listen to that kind of request, so here's the deal. You want me, then come and get me, or else I might get it in my head that the whole situation's a lost cause and it's time to bury this place. And don't think I won't do it because I'm heading toward being at the end of my rope here and getting to that point where I don't care what the hell happens. So with a big 'kiss off you witch' from me to you, this is Sheppard signing out. Come and get me you mechanical cow!"

The cur's face vanished. Carus opened her eyes and clenched her fists.

Whatever else happened from here on in, he had to die. Carus relayed her urgency and blood-lust to the human beast labeled as Ronon, and projected images of a traitor, then the cur's bones being broken one by one. Her glee became his glee, and his feral grin curled on her face.


	9. You're Gonna Learn About Loss

_A/N: Now we mosey along in the story to a touch more whump…the race is on now. The muses and bunnies are very pleased and thank everyone for such a marvelous response._

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Chapter 9

You're Gonna Learn About Loss

John felt reasonably sure that he had not thought his plan out as far as he should have. He trotted along, grabbing walls, and stopping periodically to regain his breath. He was dressed in scrubs, barefoot and armed with a single stunner with unknown amount of charge left and an LSD.

Oh, and he had just baited the bad guy…gal…thing.

Foolish or idiotic came to mind. Courageous was laughed right out of his head. Still, he had to do it. Buy the others time to figure out how to solve this little mess. The best tracker would go after him. That only left Teyla, a few dozen others infested with mechanical lice and the mother louse herself.

No problem.

A shot sizzled overhead and he realized that Ronon had picked up his trail easily. Bare footprints in ooze from decaying marine life were kind of a give-a-way. Also, she would have known where her infected minion fell. John was a juicy orange on the tree just waiting to be picked and squashed.

He kept going and hoped that he was not leading the trailing fighters towards the others because he also realized that he was kind of lost. He knew most of the catacomb-like subbasements of Atlantis like the back of his hand but this was actually new territory for him. He had not been on the teams to clear this area. He could make a few assumptions due to the likeness of other portions of the city but these passageways were new to him.

In addition, he had no communication device-- really should have thought ahead--and did he mention the lack of shoes? The ooze was real cold and real slimy. They might have cleared but not cleaned.

Ducking into a hallway, he hazarded a glance at the LSD and saw no one.

"Nuts," he whispered to himself. "Okay John, you were on your way to the…place…that you were going. You took a side corridor after the ambush….so that puts me…just west of still lost." He slumped. Well, he would make due. He always made due.

Pushing off the wall, he started trotting again, through the pungent, decaying, marine life and farther away from help…or so he continued to hope. He ran, walked, skipped, staggered and fell his way through those nether regions of Atlantis.

He wished he knew these particular regions as well as Rodney intimated. It would make running and hiding much easier and maybe even have some purpose. A crafty plan that would lead those with a hard-on for him into a brilliant trap…as it stood right now, he had pretty much nothing but the cowlick on his head and dirty scrubs.

A bullet pinging off a nearby wall sent him dropping to the floor and the LSD skittering away. Another one sent him scrambling for an alcove in the hallway behind a light. He peered around the darkened light and saw one of the infested creeping along the corridor.

John closed his eyes and steadied his very unsteady self. After a deep nasal intake of air, he fired the stunner at the poor soul and watched him drop.

"Wait for it…" he whispered to himself.

"Kell! Kell, you backstabbing dung heap! You traitorous mud crawler! Your head is mine!"

Whoever this Kell was or is had Ronon fairly ticked off. Sheppard swallowed and remained still, his options quickly diminishing.

_Crap._

"Women and children, Kell! You left them to defend our world while you took all those cowardly troops with you! You ran away like little rodents from a household meer. She died Kell! She died doing her job and I watched her die! Now I'll watch you die!"

John was well into to hating the head louse even more. She turned friend against friend and used their own memories against them. As the world swam around him and the corridor wavered, John steadied his breathing. The gloves had to come off. It was time to stop holding back.

"Ronon! It's John!"

"Lies you coward!" Ronon bellowed back. "I'd know your voice anywhere, Task Master!"

"I don't know this Kell, but you have something controlling you!"

"Nice try," he shouted. Shuffling feet slogged down the hallway. "I will make you crawl on your belly like a worm!"

John fired blindly, heard a grunt and took off running for the next doorway. Bullets ricocheted and buzzed past his ears. The build-up whine started on _precious _and John took cover in the closest doorway. The shot sent pieces of composite flying and shards sliced John's face.

Composing himself and catching his breath, he rubbed his hand down his shirt to soothe the flaring pain in his side. Looking down, John noticed a hole towards the bottom. A bullet had passed right through without touching skin.

_Well, will wonders never cease? _Maybe, the day was looking up.

"I'm coming for you, Task Master! And I'm bringing the Dark World with me!"

Or not.

John figured that must be the Satedan version of hell and he was already languishing in it. He was condemned because one of his Ancient ancestors also knew about nether regions and exercised them. He got up and started moving farther down a dark corridor. The shadows were his friend today. They would cover his retreat into the bowels of the city and hide whatever he was sliding on. Maybe, he could set up a small ambush…

"The hospital Kell! They destroyed the hospital while she _remained _at her post!"

John thought he was getting a lesson about Ronon today, which the Satedan might not want taught. But John had already seen that hospital. John had stood killing Wraith in that hospital. Those memories were fresh to Ronon. The louse could not have chosen better.

John ran intuitively dodging the shots around him. The darkness hid him until it was blindingly taken away. He said bye-bye to his luck and his iffy ambush.

"Not now, Rodney!" John exclaimed in a loud whisper.

He turned to look behind him. Ronon stood in the middle of the hallway surrounded by others and fired at him without pause. John dropped and fired his own stunner. Another of the infected stepped in front and took the shot meant for Ronon. Ronon determinedly stepped over the body and kept coming.

John pushed up and tried to move through his dizziness and aching side. Four Ronon's had decided to join the manhunt. John's hands began to shake from fatigue and, who was he kidding, nerves.

Ronon ran the rest of the way closing the distance before John could get another shot off with his traitorous hands. The stunner went flying as Ronon batted it with his own weapon. John was picked up and thrown against a wall.

"She was my lover and my best friend! You don't deserve to live!" Ronon's face was primal.

John realized that that was the face that he never wanted to see up close and personal. The one that would frighten Ghengis Khan or Khan Noonien Singh, but behind it, John saw the deep sorrow and heard it in Ronon's voice. For a split second, John felt sorry for Ronon as the memories flooded his system. It passed, however.

The world was sparkling and going black. John had one chance-- he kneed his friend as hard as he could, which was not much, but enough to make him let go. As soon as hands and feet touched ground, John scampered on all fours farther down the hall.

"Now you play dirty?" Ronon crowed, hands placed over his groin.

They did not stay there for long; a hand grabbed John's bare ankle and stopped his escape. With the touch, he saw her watching, moving, enjoying, and coming to him. She wanted to be there; she wanted to see for herself. She wanted Ronon to be his downfall by manifesting the hate and anger. The other infested were hanging back, watching, and waiting.

"_Come and get me yourself you heartless witch. Come and see him break me in two in person. Come and enjoy your handiwork!" _John taunted.

He twisted around to face Ronon. "Ronon, it's okay. It's not you…"

Ronon pulled him back not noticing a piece of Ancient rebar lying at his side. John saw it and made a move to get it. He missed by inches as Ronon's huge paw wrapped around it with that feral grin that was now scaring the ever living shit out of John.

Even as they sat on the floor with no leverage, Sheppard saw the damned head feint and let all of his instincts go into blocking the anticipated move. As the bar swung for his head, John's right arm raised to block.

His last thought before his brain processed the information on the pain of his forearm shattering was: Teyla would have been really proud of him for finally countering the move.

-------------------

"HE DID WHAT!" Rodney yelled at Lorne as they rematerialized in a lower section of the facility.

"He's leading them on a chase, apparently. We've encountered little or no more infected since the colonel took it upon himself to play cheese," Lorne recounted to him for the second time.

It still eluded Rodney why the idiotic, moronic, jerk was so short sighted sometimes.

"He's the only one that knows which room…"

"I was there, I'll show you," replied Lorne for the third time.

"Oh, well then, lead the way." Rodney made an exaggerated bow and staggered from his headache before following Lorne from the transporter. "You _are _still looking for him?"

"Aye lad, he's hardly a match for a group of Girls Guides armed with cookies," Beckett chimed in.

Rodney looked back and thought none of them were going to be able to stop any scouts of any gender. Thinking through a blinding headache was not his idea of maximum performance shape. The military guys were having to stun people and refrain from killing them or even hand to hand. Even Beckett had a knot the size of a golf ball on the side of his head.

"Of course, we've seen impressions in the muck down there, but we're keeping low when one of the infected walks by. Urban warfare at its finest. My men are tracking while I came back to help you."

They continued to travel the darkened hallways heading towards the last checked lab. Rodney kept squinting, because, yes, the head throbbing just would not abate. Carson laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Rodney, the best I can give you is ibuprofen; anything else would make ya loopy."

"Hand 'em over; anything is better than how I feel now."

"We're here," reported Lorne as Rodney popped three pills in his mouth.

"Doesn't look like much does it?" Rodney asked no one in particular. "Usually the most dangerous things don't, though."

Rodney and Hicks started setting up laptops connecting them the computers in the room. "Okay, Miko, go ahead and power the city up…"

"What!" Lorne yelled. "Won't that give them access to…well…everything?"

"Give us some credit, Major. We'll have everyone but us locked out of the system…of course, Radek is on their side and probably will be able to counter given enough time…but…but we won't give him the time."

"Anyway, it will hide us to a certain extent. We can hide in the clutter. She can't access the Gate at all. Atlantis will not accept her touch. She can't mask the little robots…at least not yet."

Lorne just shrugged and gave a half-hearted, "What ever you say, Doc."

"Go Miko." With the command lights returned and Rodney hoped that he just did not give anything away, especially his friend. Standing at one of the computer consoles, he started accessing the labs files.

After a few minutes, Rodney reported. "Okay, this is definitely the lab where the little bugs could have been hiding…a private lab of one Silbar Fuhs. Oh, and he did not like humanity one, tiny, little bit according to the database and his ever so enlightening personal logs."

"Well, at least, we've encountered that before," said Carson.

"Yeah, we're the poster children of love 'em or hate 'em. Need to get the tattoos on our fingers like De Niro and Mitchum had in Cape Fear. Could be a rite of passage for living in Atlantis."

"Yeah, Doc, I'll pass," retorted Lorne as he kept an eye out in the corridor.

"Oh hey, it seems the Ancient ass left a tutorial or something…" Rodney clacked on his keyboard and then on a console jutting out of the wall. An older man with salt and pepper hair appeared in the tan tunic and pants the Ancient seemed to favor when living in the city. The hologram stood still for a moment until Rodney came around to the front of it.

"What would the filth like to know?" It asked.

"Charming," Carson spat.

"Ah, yes, har-dee-har-har. The filth would like to know how to deactivate the nanites your creator so carelessly left lying around?" Rodney asked full of condescension himself.

"Ah, I see; my daughter Carus survives. You only need for her to come see her father and then all will be taken care of."

He had been right. It was a "who". It was not just a bunch of little nanites trying to create a form but an actual someone already.

"Yeah, right…She's overrun Atlantis…trying to kill all those with certain genetic traits…"

"She would no sooner harm a hair on any being's head…"

The Ancients always liked to delude themselves on their own omnipotence.

"Gotcha there Sylvan, she's tried to kill a friend of mine three times and sent others to kill us. She's using other _filth _to do it."

The hologram stopped for a moment processing. "Bring her to her father; I will take care of everything."

"Well why not?" said Rodney to the entire room. "Why send a man to do a hologram's job?"

-------------------

She had an army at her disposal and troops to engage the enemy. She knew where the mongrel's last position lay. She placed in front of Ronon an image of a most hated human enemy. Kell would fall again and again and again if necessary until the mongrel was nothing more than a lifeless sack of crushed bones. Toy with her, daughter of…no, not a daughter.

Mother of a new people.

"Teyla, we do no good here. Let us go join the fight. It is time for everyone to meet their new mother."

Carus left the brig with her children and went to rid herself of their undesirable friends.

He had taunted her. He had dared to taunt her. She would do as he asked and escort him to his friends hiding place. She would painfully extract it from him and remove the last of her father's dangerous and self-absorbed race. Then she would set herself up as the matriarch of a new society with humanity as her servants. All who believed were welcome. All who did not would be eliminated.

After a while the lights flickered on and Atlantis spoke to her, telling her of its inability to help her. She was denied access. Carus shoved her hand in the nearest wall and demanded through her intricate network that Atlantis recognize her as its sovereign…it refused.

Anger, hatred, and rage welled up with every inorganic cell. She integrated with the wall and used the conduits and crystal pathways to travel to the mutt that Atlantis favored above all else. She heard him tease her to join him-- again. Come and see him die, he said. She would oblige. She would stand over him, watch him break, and get every last ounce of information out of him. Then, Atlantis would listen to her. It would listen to its sovereign mother even if she had to use pieces of him to do it.


	10. Hasta la Vista, Baby!

A/N: _Itty-bitty little Common Ground spoiler, just so you know. The muses and bunnies are tossing out virtual candies for the reviews. The bunnies are frolicking while doing so, and the muses are laughing at them. (rolls eyes) eesh. Hold on tight, yon whumpers, because here we go..._

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Hasta la vista, Baby

Every bone in John's body vibrated on impact with the slime covered floor. He gasped going for a deep lungful of breath, and ended up only a third of the way there when his ribs grated in vociferous complaint.

"Don't think I'll make this quick for you, Kell," Ronon taunted. "You have a lot of lives to answer for."

John would have responded with something witty and nasty had he the breath to do so. A vicious stomp to his ankle encouraged him to suck in a little more oxygen.

Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, John saw Ronon's lip curl in a sneer.

"I'll break you one bone at a time."

John's witty retort was a painful and pathetic cough. Ronon's heavy boot moved from the now cracked ankle to his already broken chest, and pressed down. Agony robbed John of the little air still swimming in his lungs. He could feel his ribs give, hear them rub against each other, and he distantly wondered if fires could be started by rubbing two bones together. The ribcage was supposed to protect the poor, defenseless, yet frighteningly vital organs that couldn't defend themselves. Now the ribcage had turned, and was probably mere centimeters away from pricking those poor defenseless, vital organs.

John felt it safe now to panic, ego be damned.

"R-R-Ro... Ro – non," he wheezed. "P-p-please... Please... S-Stop... Please. It's... me... John. P-Please..."

John felt an annoying tickle in his lungs that he couldn't cough out. Black spots flashed with white sparks in his eyes, and his heart wasn't helping the situation by pounding oxygen-less blood through his veins. That same blood was screaming in his ears until he could barely hear his own wheezing.

"You're going too fast. Ease up. He must not die all at once."

John rolled his fading vision toward the sourced of the very cold, heartless female voice. The foot on his chest eased but the pressure was still tight. Pulling in air was like breathing through a straw, and though the dark splotches faded, the sparks still flashed like the Fourth of July.

John eyed the new comer as best he could. It was her. He knew it was by a feeling, like a bad case of Deja vu. She was tall, slender, with long black hair that came to her waist, wearing a tunic and pants more akin to something the Ancients would have worn. She would have been quite attractive if it hadn't been for that whole homicidal, genocidal, racist against humans streak burning in her wild gray eyes.

She knelt beside John as the rest of her infested minions hung back. Her assessment of him was like the owner of the Sirloin Steakhouse assessing cattle for tonight's menu. When she touched him, it was light, almost gentle. His face first for her fingers to brush the massive shiner that had his eye swelling shut. Next his neck and the finger-shaped bruises around his throat. His collar bone that Ronon had cracked before slamming him to the floor. Down his ribs pausing at the breaks. She moved on to his arm lying useless and at an odd angle at his side. She trailed her fingers down to his wrist.

It was like being touched by the dead. There was no warmth in Carus' skin. It was all Antarctic cold, like flesh pulled over metal.

Carus, the name popped into John's head without permission. Carus gripped John's wrist and lifted his hand. Pain pulsed, and John gave up the air he managed to intake for a small yelp followed by a whimper. Carus caressed the back of John's head with her other hand.

"You, my dear mongrel," she purred dreamily. "You are mine now. All mine. I thought I would savor your death like a sweet dream, but I find your pain to be more pleasurable." She gripped John's forefinger tight, and pulled back.

The finger cracked, pain exploded, and John forced his lungs to push out a broken cry.

"You are the epitome of abominations. You are a mutt." She pulled the middle finger back, and John cried again. "A cur." The next finger, and John both cried and whimpered. "Filth not worthy to breathe the same air." The pinky finger. John was sobbing now. Hot tears tickled down his face.

"You do not deserve a quick death." She gripped his hand and his wrist, and twisted. This time, John screamed, arching his back off the floor.

"You will die slowly, and you're friends will watch," Carus said above the shrieking. John's screams died when his lungs compressed out every last molecule of air.

Carus' hand returned to stroking his head. "Now where are they, cur? Where are your friends?"

John had to wait until his lungs recalled how to breathe before speaking.

"Go to... Hell... Robobitch."

Carus' hand paused in its caressing. With speed that would make a cobra jealous, her hand shot to his throat, lifting him upright to bring him scant inches from her face. The murderous rage in her eyes actually had John trembling from more than just pain and cold.

"You know I will find them eventually. Why not make this easy on them? You tell me where they are, and I will make their deaths quick. If not, then their deaths will be slow, and you will be the one forced to watch."

John smiled drunkenly, flashing her his blood-stained teeth. "Ultimatums, ultimatums. Die fast or die slow. So many choices."

Carus released him and he crumpled in an agonizing heap to the floor, then she kicked him in the stomach. John curled in toward the pain trying to suck air through the equivalent of a swizzle stick. He was starting to miss oxygen rich nasal cannulas.

Carus stepped over John and squatted on his other side to dish out some robotic female wrath on his other arm. She had his arm lifted, ready to twist and snap the bone into jagged splinters.

She didn't. She just sat there, unmoving, as though someone had flipped the off switch, and John prayed that someone – namely Rodney - had flipped that switch.

Then Carus' head tilted to one side like a curious dog.

"I know where they are," she said. She stood, and stepped over John.

"Bring him. His punishment is only just beginning."

Ronon smiled wickedly and gathered John none too gently into his arms. He made sure to adjust John in ways that had him yelping, crying out, and whimpering.

"You so owe me... big guy," John gasped. Ronon adjusted again.

------------------------

Rodney glanced askance nervously at the trussed up infected squirming in futility against the wall, glaring daggers, bullets, and wraith cullings at them all.

"You sure she can hear us through him?" Lorne asked from his spot against the wall next to the infected. He nudged the infected in the thigh with his boot.

Rodney looked back at his Dell and let his fingers fly. They had to time this right. Get Carus in and shut as many of her minions being tugged along on their invisible leash out. The moment she set foot through the doors, then swish went the doors.

"Colonel Sheppard said he thought he'd felt or seen a presence. At first I passed it off as delirium, because it was better than panicking over how deep Carus' influence had infiltrated. Now that I've had time to think about it, I really need to learn to give into panic. These infected people aren't just her minions, they're her eyes and ears. So, yeah, definitely working."

"Okay," Lorne said. "Makes sense. What doesn't is why this human hating movie projection is so keen on helping us."

"It's just a program," Rodney said. "It has to help us, bad attitude not withstanding."

Lorne perked. "Oh, all right. So it's completely incapable of back stabbing us then, right?"

The information on the laptop kept trying to blur together in his eyes. Rodney sighed heavily, gulping several times before speaking to keep the bile at bay.

"At this point, we can only hope so. If not, then we can only hope for a quick death."

"That's not encouraging, Rodney," Carson remarked from his post beside a bandaged Vasquez.

"It wasn't meant to be. Reality bites, Carson, get over it."

Lorne chuckled, then his hand shot to his com. "Lorne here... Copy that. Whatever else you need to do, doc, you better pick it up. We've got bogies headed our way. A herd of them, and they don't look happy."

The clattering report of P-90 fire had every head whipping toward the door. Lorne's hand shot back to his com.

"Fall back! Repeat, fall back! Bring them in!"

Shots intermixed with gun fire and stunner pulses, then came feet pounding the metal pavement. The men Lorne had stationed outside the lab to keep watch raced in.

"Everyone take cover," Lorne ordered. Men ducked behind machines and consoles. Lorne helped Beckett move Vasquez behind a counter, and Rodney grabbed his laptop and ducked behind the holographic platform, peering out enough to see who came through.

The infected strode in like they owned the place, led by a young woman Rodney swore he had never seen before, and kind of wished he had because he was rather hot...

It took a moment to realize Silbar's holographic image wasn't projecting. The electronic ghost of the old man was gone. Lorne had been right in inquiring into possible back stabbing.

"Son of a bitch!" Rodney squeaked. Oh well, at least they still had plan B.

The dark haired woman who had to be Carus by her very ancient dress stepped into the lab with Ronon the loyal pitbull beside her. Ronon was carrying something in his arms, something dirty, limp, bloody, bruised, and spiky-haired.

Rodney gaped. "Oh my gosh."

"Dr. McKay! The doors!" someone hissed.

Rodney jolted and hit enter. The doors slid shut right after three more of Carus' minions slipped through. One of them Elizabeth. Rodney had nearly sliced Elizabeth in two.

Carus did not seem to care that she was cut off. Why would she? She was robo-babe, capable of breaking all their necks in five minutes or less, then juggle their corpses just for fun.

"You might as well come out," Carus said. "There is no point in playing these games. You can either make this easy on yourselves, or hard."

Ronon stepped forward and dumped his burden carelessly to the floor. Rodney cringed at Sheppard's combination sob and yelp. The man never even shed a tear, said 'I'm good' when he was bleeding out his ears. For him to so much as gasp in pain meant that pain was going to require surgery to fix.

"Bloody hell, what've ya done to him!" Beckett appeared from around the counter making a B-line for the broken Colonel. Ronon's precious materialized, and Beckett stopped – thankfully not dead yet – three feet from his patient.

"Ronon, lad, please don't," Carson begged.

" Shut up," Ronon snarled. To emphasize his misplaced hatred for whoever or whatever he was hating on, Ronon placed his foot on John's chest.

Rodney had only seen John that terrified one other time – when he was being _fed_ on - and even now it still made him sick. Sick enough to nearly vomit, but ended up with only a few gags. John's pain-filled and high-pitched whimpers sent shocks of cold racing down Rodney's spine.

"Ronon," Carson continued to beg.

"You will all come out of hiding," said Carus, "or I will kill this precious mongrel of yours."

Ronon pressed harder, and John cried out.

Rodney stabbed at his keyboard trying to find some way to initiate Silbar's hologram.

"Get back here you racist son of a bitch!"

"Dr. McKa-ay," Carus sing-songed. "Come out, come out, where ever you are. Major Lorne, no reason to waste bullets and stuns, they will not work on me. I will kill your Colonel, and all those present if you do not emerge now." Proving her point, she stepped back and placed her hand on the back of Dr. Weir's neck ready for the fatal twist. Ronon's foot continued to push down on John's chest until John had no air left to even wheeze.

Carson stood there helpless.

Rodney sat there helpless.

Lorne rose up from behind his hiding place looking pissed.

Carus smiled, and tightened her hold on Elizabeth's neck.

"This will be so much easier now."

"Carus."

Rodney flinched when Silbar frizzled and fuzzed back into existence.

"Carus, child. It is I. It is father..."

------------------------

Carus forgot all else. Her minions, her goals, the mutt, synaptic signals of captures and kills from the infected as they ran about doing her bidding. All of it became white noise in the distant background as her world shrank to only her and the father who she thought had abandoned her.

Except he hadn't. He was here, now, standing before her with open arms.

"Father?" she said, barely above a whisper.

Carus smiled, accentuating the wrinkles on his face. "Yes, cherished one, it is I. I am sorry I did not come for you sooner. It was not possible for me. But I am here now. Here to take you home."

Carus did not have the means to shed tears, so her infected shed tears for her.

"Oh, father. I thought you had left me."

"I did, but I have returned for you now."

Something within Carus shattered. All the anger flitted away from her like the Earth creatures called birds being released from a cage. She stumbled toward her father. Then she ran to him with arms wide open. She threw herself into his embrace, passed through it, and yet did not realize. As she stood within his holographic form, the same nanites she had spread like a plague through the filthy humans now filled her, altering her own electronic synapses to believe that Silbar's arms were around her. She could feel his strength, his warmth, and let herself sink into it.

She was no longer alone.

"Oh father."

"It is all right now, Carus. Everything will be all right."

"Father, I am so tired."

"Then rest, cherished one, rest."

Carus felt herself sink, and a warm, comforting darkness flooded up around her. She curled up on the ground still feeling her father's arms around her, and let herself be absorbed into the darkness.

---------------------------

Carus laid herself down to sleep, and immediately after every infected in the room crumpled like boneless sacks to the ground. Beckett moved fast taking Ronon's pulse. He nodded with pursed lips, then turned his attention to the more immediate problem of a broken and bloody Colonel Sheppard.

Rodney crawled out from around his hiding place. "That's it then? She defeated or shut down or whatever?" he asked, looking up at Silbar.

"Shut down was initiated. Would you like me to reprogram her?"

"Not on your half life, buddy! She's down and she stays down, got it! And what the hell took you so long?"

"I needed to deactivate in order to prepare Carus' own deactivation program. It would have absorbed an unnecessary amount of power otherwise. Is the filth pleased with current results?"

Rodney pulled himself to his knees using Silbar's platform. "Yes, the filth is very pleased."

"Then I take leave of you."

Without even a parting 'curses to all human mutts', Silbar fizzed out leaving only the human shell of his daughter behind. Homicidal robot or not, Rodney found something very cold about the whole ordeal. Hugs and kisses, then 'I killed my daughter, hope that pleases you, bye now and never contact me again'. Like father like daughter, no doubts there.

Rodney wanted to melt into the floor. Except there was still one crises to be tense about. He didn't have the strength to stand, so he crawled over to Carson who was checking Sheppard over. The look on the physician's face was making Rodney's stomach twist. When he looked down at Sheppard, he had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep from heaving.

Carson had the filthy scrub top pulled up so he could have a listen to the man's chest with his stethoscope. There were bruises on bruises all over Sheppard's body, and Rodney could actually see the breaks in the ribs. John's oddly angled arm too, his fingers, ankle...

Rodney couldn't hold it in anymore, and crawled over to the holographic projector to puke his guts inside out. It was a short lived affair. He'd already puked everything and the kitchen sink. Free of the need, Rodney crawled pathetically back in time to hear Carson say something about there being no breath sounds on the right side.

John began to stir, rolling his head from side to side. Suddenly his body jerked and he began to cough. Blood sprayed from his mouth coating his face in a fine mist of red.

"Damn it we need to get him into the infirmary! Someone bring me the something to bloody carry him on!"

John's eyes were open and rolling like glass marbles in his skull. His head lolled in Ronon's direction, and the movement stilled. He began shaking, hard, and tried to push himself away from Ronon with his good but weak arm.

"No..." he choked, shaking his head. "No..."

Rodney scurried like a pug dog to Sheppard's other side, effectively placing himself between Ronon and John's line of sight. He grabbed both sides of Sheppard's face and locked gazes.

"Sheppard! Sheppard, it's all right. Look at me. It's me, it's Rodney, you're going to be all right. It's over. Do you hear me? We got to the lab, figured it all out like we always do, and saved the day... Again. Ronon's not infected anymore and you're going to be all right."

The terror and hope Rodney saw in John's eyes was almost heartbreaking.

"W-won?"

"Yes, won. We won. It's all over."

John's body shuddered, and a tear squeezed free of the corner of his eye. "Promise?"

Rodney nodded. "Yeah, promise."

John nodded. "Don't... leave me alone... Just in... Case. Please..."

Rodeny couldn't hold back a shudder himself. John never begged. "We won't. We'll be there."

John nodded again, then promptly passed out.


	11. Rampart Base, This is Rescue Five One

_A/N: The muses have found cigars…I tried to tell them it was bad for their health but they laughed in my face. I can't find the bunnies…where are the bunnies? Oh, exploding cigars…those devious bunnies._

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Chapter 11

Rampart Base, This Is Rescue Five-One

"Rodney, get those doors open! I need any medics available and my kit! Carla! Where's Carla!" Beckett called into his ear piece as he assessed each injury, cataloged it according to severity and diagnosed procedure and treatment. Red-flecked, blue lips, which were parted as wide as possible, tried to intake any air in the immediate vicinity. "Tension pneumothorax. I'm going to have to, but I don't have…Where the hell is Carla!"

"We're two hours from the infirmary Carson…He doesn't have two hours does he?" Rodney croaked as he clicked away on his laptop.

"No." Carson continued palpations to John's ankles to assess them. "Major, hold him up there…mind the arm…just like that…" When Lorne had Sheppard under the arms, Carson twisted his ankle with a pull that should have broken it again. "No pulse in that one…much better now, I think…" Carson mumbled to himself as he scrambled back to Sheppard's torso. He placed the stethoscope's bell back on Sheppard's chest and called for silence. He lifted it and swore.

"Carla!"

"I'm here, Dr. Beckett!" A muffled cry was heard on the other side of the still closed doors.

Error bleeps kept coming from the infernal machine that Rodney kept pounding on and cursing at very loudly.

"_Rodney_…" Carson said in between checking different parts of Sheppard. "You need to hurry!"

"I'm trying!" Rodney stood up, staggered and bumped into the wall next to the door. "That old, bigoted windbag locked us in. Going to try and do it the hard way…" He popped the cover off of a panel and started moving crystals. "Arrogant, pixilated jerk-off is exacting payment or something…hold on…think…I…got…it…"

The door swished open. Carla fell into the room holding a pared down version of Carson's medical bag. He accepted it with an outstretched hand and opened it before it even settled on the floor.

"The oxygen, love."

"I got it!" a young medic shouted entering behind her.

"Thank ya. Major Lorne get anyone and everyone to start checking those affected and move them out of the doorways…"

Lorne tapped his earpiece. "Lt. Billings, you still at your objective?"

"Yes sir. They all passed out, sir. That's a good thing; I'm hoping…right sir?"

"Yes lieutenant, it's a very good thing. I need you to get on city wide and have people start assessing those infected. Do not move them unless they are in danger…" He paused and looked at his CO and then at McKay. "Hold on for a minute…get that started and I have another job for you…"

Lorne watched as Carson moved to inspect Sheppard's arm. The nurse started the IV's and placed an oxygen mask on his face.

"Dr. McKay? You have schematics, right?"

Rodney nodded as he slid down the wall. Lorne remembered his list from earlier and realized the two doctors had lasted longer than expected. His CO had also gone above and beyond.

"Where's the closest place a Jumper can land?" Lorne asked as he held the oxygen mask in place.

"Oh for the…why didn't I think…Hicks! Look for the closest landing pad…" Rodney started laughing in a very caustic sort of tone. "Flying cars…we need flying cars…"

Lorne, still cradling the colonel's head in his lap, gave a bitter snort, "That would be cool, sir."

"Here," replied Hicks and pointed to a piece of decking not too far from their position. Could have been the Ancient equivalent to an ambulance bay, but Lorne was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Billings,"

"Here sir."

"You have anyone who can pilot?"

"Yes sir, Miller's here."

"Have access to a laptop?"

"Yes sir…hold on, sir…go ahead."

Hicks sent the schematics and the red "We are here" complete with an arrow to the young marine.

Lorne signed off with, "Come and get us."

-------------------

Carson was in his element. He relied on the available staff to care for the others while he attended to his gravely injured friend. He realized how inadequately he was prepared for the situation. He had only been able to grab the bare essentials and, unfortunately, things needed for a trauma patient were not included on the list. He could not give Sheppard any pain medication, anyway. He needed to find everything that was wrong and Sheppard needed to be able to direct him-- if he was conscious.

"Good lord, Ronon. What all did you do?" Carson asked himself. He did not expect a reply.

A low voice from a few feet away answered anyway, "Everything."

Carson fell on his patient as tension in the room ratcheted up to new heights. The dreadlocks brushed the floor as Ronon pushed himself up to sitting. He appeared as unsteady as the rest of the room appeared uneasy. Others soon followed his example and sat up holding their heads.

Rodney pressed himself into the wall and looked with not just a little fear at the reawakening ex-minions. Stunners were aimed at everyone until one of them spoke.

"Carson?" a female voice called out.

Beckett lifted his head up to see a pale and shaken Elizabeth trying to get her bearings.

"Oh, Carson…" she whispered as her faculties seemed to fall into place. The wide-eyed look was a dead give-a-way.

"Not now, Elizabeth…we have a few problems."

Her eyes affixed on the lump of raw flesh Carson was protecting. He slowly unfolded revealing Sheppard in all his mangled glory. He wordlessly continued his diagnosis and treatment.

"Oh my…" Her voice quavered with the realization of who lay on the floor.

"Yeah…" agreed Ronon as he backed away in revulsion from his own actions.

"Okay, I need only medical personnel in here and the rest to go….You stay where you are, Maj. Lorne," he ordered and reinforced it with a forcefully pointed finger. "If he wakes and sees you, I'm hopin' it keeps him calm."

"How about the medical facility?" Lorne asked. "Surely, the Ancients had some equipment left up there. At least…"

"Found a gurney!" called out a young man as he rolled the bed into the lab.

Sheppard's heart was beating way to fast. His skin was turning blue, not just his lips anymore. To top it all off, he needed a chest tube and Carson was fresh out for the moment. The medical facility may have what he needed but if it did not...

Carson had to call in all of his expertise. Even in something as inexact as medicine, there were procedures and protocols that guided you and usually pointed you in the right direction. He relied on every one of them right now.

"Dr. Biro, you there?" He called on his headset.

"Dr. Beckett? What's happened?"

"I have an emergency… I need you to get on a Jumper leaving for the newly explored part of the city, _now_. Bring me an entire chest tube kit and anything else we need for trauma injuries. Diane…hurry."

Before Carson had switched his radio off, Lorne was on his radio instructing his people to wait for Dr. Biro. Carson looked at the young man with the gurney.

"No chance there was a backboard?"

"I'll go look, Doc." The young man who Carson did not know ran back out.

The ATA marines started helping people out of the increasingly shrinking lab. As one approached the deactivated Carus a chorus of, "Not her!" went out from all directions. The young corporal backed away slowly much to everyone's relief.

Crisis averted, Carson donned his stethoscope and listened again to the reduced breath sounds. They were getting short on time.

"Okay, keep that mask on him, Major…" Carson spared a look at a slumped Rodney. "Carla, go check Dr. McKay." He had not forgotten that he had two patients. It was just one was more critical than the other.

"No on the board, Doc!" the young man said as he stood in the doorway.

"Okay, easy does it and best we can." They lifted Sheppard onto the gurney as carefully as possible.

Immediately, a frigid hand grabbed Carson's arm and tried to pull up. Sheppard's eyes fluttered open and he tried to talk. Blood oozed and frothed from his mouth as he gasped out, "Not Ronon's fault. Sorry…not…not…fault. Under…stand." His earnest plea went right through Carson as Sheppard collapsed back into more death rattles.

The words pinned Ronon to the wall as he rigidly pressed himself into it. He heard every gargled and breathless gasp as the gurney passed him. Teyla soon appeared by his side and grabbed his upper arm in support. Unfortunately, Carson did not hear what she said as he raced with the gurney down the corridor to the medical facility.

----------------

"Ronon, he understands," she whispered.

"But, he's afraid of me now. I've nearly killed the military leader of this facility and my friend because of my own hatred towards a man who's dead." He had seen Kell so vividly in his head. He had been so sure he was killing Kell even though he knew the traitor was already dead. The rage had seemed so genuine, so righteous.

She squeezed his bicep. "Then, I think it is time to forgive this man and yourself. Time to let the dead go." She sighed. "I too took out my anger on him. Do you think I would have behaved so without the replicator's touch? If you had not entered when you did…I dare not think of it."

Another light hand pressed his other arm. "Believe me, I've got some apologizing to do to Carson," Elizabeth mumbled. "I think there will be others in the same boat with us."

Groaning and complaining preceded the fourth member of Sheppard's team as he exited from the lab. They all looked up as Rodney rolled out of the room in the wheelchair originally intended for Sheppard.

"You stunned me, you big ox. Don't think I'm going to let you forget that either."

Teyla let a small smile flitter on her lips for a ghost of a second. Elizabeth turned her head towards the wall and made a small contained snort.

In response, Ronon hung his head and almost wanted to laugh, but he could not, not yet. Maybe, not ever.


	12. We Have Incoming Wounded

_A/N: Coming down to the wire now. More candies to all who've reviewed, just as soon as we finish cleaning up the bits of muses scattered all over the place. Hopefully they'll have learned their lesson once we have them pieced back together. Duct tape! I need duct tape here! And a staple gun..  
_

Avatar 12

We have Incoming Wounded

Rushing through the cluttered corridors was like negotiating a battle field minus the exploding mortar and mines. Carla kept the I.V. bag raised and Carson made sure the oxygen mask stayed put on John's colorless face.

The Ancient's version of a heli-pad was only a hop, skip and a jump away with a jumper already landing just as the skeleton crew of a med-team arrived. The only wait was for the bay doors to open. Once aboard, the jumper became a make-shift infirmary. Biro had the chest tubing ready to go. Carla cut the filthy scrub shirt from Sheppard's bruised body, then Carson slipped the apparatus into the soft spot between two of Sheppard's shattered ribs. Blood flowed through the tube like water from a pricked water balloon.

Improvement was marked by the blue receding out of Sheppard's flesh.

The ride might as well have lasted less than a nano-second. The jumper set down in the bay and the mad dash resumed through clear, pristine corridors. Beckett really didn't care for record timing at the moment, but he was pretty sure they'd made record time. Beckett's ATA-less bewildered staff were spooked into action by his arrival. Disorientation was shaken off like water from a dog's back, and nurses and medics scrambled in a dance of organized chaos to get Sheppard prepped for surgery. The anesthesiologist was already present.

"Dr. Beckett," Biro called. "Col. Sheppard's fingers..."

Beckett was at the sink scrubbing his arms raw with soap. "Aye, lass. I've seen the whole bloody mess. The lad'll be our masterpiece if we can put him back together just right."

When Beckett's arms were germ free down to the second layer of epidermis, his nursing staff helped him into gloves, smock, and mask. Carson approached the Colonel lying ready to be worked on, and looked down at his injured friend.

Sheppard was all lean muscle and bone, solid yet deceptively slender, strong in more ways than just the physical. But for all his strengths and stubborn resolve, he was still just a fragile and delicate human. Once the bones were reset and internal damage dealt with, Beckett was going to wrap Sheppard in wool, and keep him that way until every molecule and bone was refused.

"We're ready," Biro said.

Becket exhaled sharply. "Let's go in."

---------------------------

"So you remember everything?" McKay asked, trying to move his head as little as possible. He could see the Satedan's hulking form out of the corner of his eye, and it was making him nervous. The silence wasn't helping.

Ronon said nothing. It was Teyla who answered in a subdued, almost timid voice.

"Everything. Like a vivid dream."

They were back in the clean, sweet smelling upper part of the city heading toward the infirmary. A second jumper had arrived to play taxi to the less critically injured and the chief Atlantis staff.

"It was like," Elizabeth said, gesturing a little with one hand, "Like... misinterpreting what we were watching. You know how people tend to interpret the same situation differently? It was something along those lines, only multiplied by a thousand. I thought you and Beckett were the ones who'd been infested by the nanites, and it was Sheppard's fault." Elizabeth shuddered wrapping her arms tight around her stomach. "I kept thinking he was an Asuran, wearing the real Sheppard's face, and that I had to kill him to save the city. Thank heavens those marines came when they did."

"I was angry at Sheppard for awakening the wraith," Teyla said. "And it just came to me, that anger. Just thinking back on it frightens me. There was no instigation behind that anger."

"You all know it wasn't your fault, right?" Rodney pressed.

Teyla smile, a little sadly but still smiled. "Yes. But I think it will take time to fully overcome what we have done. But we will. Is that not true, Ronon?"

Rodney heard the rustle of a cloth shirt indicating a Ronon shrug.

"Yeah, eventually."

Rodney swallowed when bile tried to creep into his throat. It was time to stop talking now, but he still had a few two-cents to toss in. "Sooner than eventually. It wasn't your fault... Oh gosh!"

His personal nurse must have been a mind reader. She had a container she'd snagged along the way under Rodney's mouth just as the bile finally pushed its way toward freedom.

The Infirmary was Grand Central Station at rush hour with wounded ambling in to be cared for by abashed medical personnel. Rodney was settled into the nearest available bed, right next to a stabilized Sgt. Vasquez waiting his turn for surgery.

"Some of our guys took some nasty hits, ma'am," Vasquez explained to Dr. Weir. "A nurse told me there's four surgeries going down now, including Col. Sheppard's."

Rodney squirmed and burrowed further into the bed with a contented sigh, finally allowing his body its desire to melt into a puddle of gooey flesh. His stomach was even satisfied enough by the lack of motion to quiet the nausea down to a potential threat rather than a promise. The final icing to this cake was an I.V. chalked full of the good stuff turning the hammers in his brain to fists of clouds and cotton.

"Oh that's heaven," Rodney moaned. He felt slender fingers clasp his arm.

"And you deserve it," Elizabeth said. "Rest up, Rodney."

Rodney lifted his hand for a thumbs up since he couldn't nod. "Will do. Just wake me when Sheppard gets out. I want to hear the whole prognosis spiel."

"We will," Weir promised, then was shooed out with the rest to make room for more incoming wounded.

Rodney melted the rest of the way, and conked out.

--------------------------

Beckett led the way out of the surgical theater with two of his staff wheeling Sheppard's bed from behind. It was all routine from here with Sheppard set up at his normal spot right next to McKay's normal spot to avoid future bitching from an irately worried physicist. Rodney's display of caring could be highly obnoxious.

"Carla, love," Carson said as he helped Becky get the Colonel settled and check the monitoring equipment. " Would ya go and fetch the rest of Sheppard's team and Dr. Weir? They should be waiting right outside."

Carla smiled, nodded, and hurried off. Beckett fussed with the heart monitor, pulse clip, oxygen mask, and IVs of medication and blood. He made double sure that John's arm bound both in a cast and a splint for his fingers was positioned in a way that wouldn't aggravate the Colonel's ribs. Sheppard's casted ankle was elevated on a hill of pillows to reduce any swelling.

"Becky, go and wake Dr. McKay and check his chart, make sure someone examined him."

Becky mimed Carla's response and switched over to McKay's bed. Elizabeth, Ronon, and Teyla arrived just as McKay moaned and griped awake. The healthy gathered between the beds of the two injured men, greeting McKay first then turning their attention on Sheppard's still form.

"Is he going to be all right?" Ronon asked - of all people. It was usually McKay who asked first, or Elizabeth, or Teyla. It was a rather shocking testament to the man's guilt.

"Aye, he'll be fine in time," Carson said. "Recovery'll take its sweet time but he should at least be mobile in a month or two." Carson wasn't sure how much he should go into the details. Ronon was a big boy who could take care of himself, but that still didn't lessen Beckett's reluctance to stem any more additions to the man's remorse.

Carson cleared his throat nervously. "He had a punctured and collapsed lung and some internal bleeding but that's been sorted. We'll need to keep a close eye out for possible infection considering the condition of those halls he was running around in. Other than that, it's mostly just a few broken bones. Ribs, arms... Ankle..." he cleared his throat again and muttered under his breath. "fingers."

Ronon didn't even flinch but Carson could have sworn the Satedan's eyes went dull.

"Fingers!" McKay yelped. "Conan broke his fingers!"

Beckett shot McKay a look he hoped read clearly 'shut up, McKay.' Ronon, however, shook his head.

"I don't remember breaking his fingers. Just... Everything else."

"Must have been Carus then," McKay stated matter of factly.

Carson cleared his throat a third time and gestured toward John. "Anyways, some rest and a complete lack of any more excitement, and he should be right as rain in a few days."

"When will he wake up?" McKay demanded.

"When he feels like it. Now I'd like the rest of you lot to stick around for a quick check. I'll need to collect blood samples, take vitals and what not..."

--------------------

John's eyeballs were starting to feel a little claustrophobic behind his eyelids. He wanted to open them. _Needed_ to. There was a problem. He wasn't exactly sure what problem, or more appropriately which this time. He needed to make sure that Carus chick was dead. He needed to know if Ronon was still Hannibal Lecture and Rambo rolled into one. He needed to ensure that no one blamed Ronon for what happened.

He needed to be awake and alert in case anyone tried to go for his throat again.

It all added up to the needed incentive to force his eyelids to unseal themselves and peel open. He was greeted by – for once – a dimly lit infirmary rather than the usual needle of light to the eye. It felt like twilight in Atlantis, with enough light to see by but not too much to be a nuisance to the sleeping. The steady beep of a heart monitor, and the not so steady Mack truck engine snoring told John that everything was all right in the medical facility. John rolled his heavy head in the direction of the snorting and snuffling to see Rodney on his back, mouth agape, and light reflecting off a little string of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth.

John rolled his head upright to stare at the ceiling as he assessed himself. Tightness and the feel of cloth around his chest – check. Inability to move fingers – check. Arm in a cast and a sling – check. He rolled his eyes down to his ankle wrapped in plaster and elevated – check. Throat sore and dry – check. All injuries were accounted and attended for.

John let his gaze wander the room, trying to determine who else had ended up here. It stopped wandering when it landed on the hulking figure draped across a plastic chair with brawny arms folded and head drooped to the chest.

_He's not going to hurt you, he's not going to hurt you, he's not going to hurt you... He would have already, right?"_

The heart monitor was doing that whole tattling thing again, picking up speed to let the whole world know of his increase of terror-born adrenaline.

And he was starting to shake.

_For crying out loud! If the man had wanted to hurt you he would have! _

John's brain couldn't help it. All the haze and the fuzz and jumble of memories had snapped to attention and formed a crisp line. Images of Ronon looming over him as his ass was handed to him in ten different ways blinked into his mind in sequential order. It was the look Ronon had had in his eyes that was still scaring the crap out of John. Pure, unadulterated fury and wicked, mentally disturbed glee. John had never seen the man so happy and pissed at the same time, and even now it made his gut clench.

The heart monitor seemed to know what it was doing in its pronouncement of John's current state. No one came running, but Ronon did start to stir. The big man's head bobbed before finally lifting and turning. The Satedan's eyes flashed in the dusky light. John involuntarily cringed.

"Sheppard?" Ronon rumbled.

A sharp exhale shot out of John's throat. Recognition; that was a good sign, right?

John gulped. "H-hey... big guy." His voice was little more than a croak, but Ronon had ears that could hear a mosquito by a waterfall. Ronon stood, and John was certain the guy had grown a little taller, and bulkier. He moved around John's bed and vanished deeper into the infirmary. He returned a minute later with a plastic container of ice chips, setting it on the table by the bed. He took a chip and held it out toward John's mouth. John took it, reluctantly, half expecting it to be shoved down his throat.

Paranoia had staked it's claim long ago. It was now permanently settled.

John toyed with the chip, clacking it against his teeth, then crunching it down to slush.

"I'm sorry Sheppard," Ronon blurted.

John would have flapped his hand in a dismissive way if he hadn't felt like a new born lamb at that moment. Make that kitten since lambs were usually on their feet by now.

" 'S cool. Not your fault."

"I know. Still felt like it needed to be said, though. I'd never hurt you Sheppard."

John eyed him dubiously. "You threatened to shoot me if I butted in to your little wraith wrestling match on Sateda."

Ronon crossed his arms over his broad chest and cast his eyes to the floor. "Um... Yeah, well... I meant to apologize for that too. It was just at the time..."

John really longed for the ability to flap his hand in dismissal. Instead he turned his head away. "Yeah, I know. You were a little busy being injured and what not. Hey, I got over it."

A hand pressed carefully on John's shoulder. When he flinched violently, the hand was snatched back. John looked up at Ronon apologetically.

"It's not just you, big guy," he tried to assure.

Ronon was staring at the floor like a reprimanded child. "I know."

"It's not so much being touch as it is being _unexpectedly_ touched."

Ronon nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. I wasn't really thinking about it, though. Sorry."

"It's cool."

Ronon reached out again, this time slowly, giving John time to prepare. John tensed when the strong hand touched his shoulder, then relaxed when it settled.

"You should get some rest," Ronon said, and patted John's shoulder lightly, gently, as though John was an antique fine china tea set worth millions.

"Same to you. You look like crap. And don't try to point out what I look like because I already have a pretty good idea."

Ronon grinned in amusement, and that finally got John's heart to settle down.

"We good then?" Ronon asked.

"We were never anything else," John breathed before slipping back into that pleasantly numb place called dreamland.


	13. Smelled Like, Victory

_A/N: The muses love the staple gun…the bunnies do not. The poor little bunnies are now stapled by their ears to the wall. But the muses are nothing if not gracious and have allowed for good behavior. They will only keep them up there over night…after they catch up on their soaps. _

_We clink mugs of hot chocolate and any beverage of choice to all of you for reading and/or reviewing. Thank you so much!_

Avatar

Chapter 13

Smelled Like- Victory

He looked up at Teyla in horror. There it was. There it was smeared all over her face…that awful condescending smile. That smile that said, _ah, my opponent whom I have just bested in hand to hand combat, effortlessly, and is lain out on the floor by my excellent skills. _It shined in her eyes. It resided in the crooks of her mouth. It multiplied with the flare of her nostrils. The smile, which he loved aimed at other people, but not at himself, filled her face like a bright ray of evil sunshine.

It had been almost three months since Carus had tried to make herself at home. This was his first real, go for broke sparring session with Teyla since then and he was not sure what to expect. Would Teyla hold back? Would Teyla take it easy on him? Would Teyla go for the kill as soon as he picked up the sticks?

No. No. And, a resounding, yes.

However, John Sheppard still restrained himself.

Oh, he had thought himself so clever. He had told her of his blocking the deadly blow by Ronon even though it had fractured his arm. He still wore a brace on it for this type of thing as well as on his ankle. He would not go back on off-world duty until those came off, but he was a patient man. A patient man who apparently still had much to learn in the ways of Athosian stick fighting. A patient, flat on his back man, who realized, there was much more to the lesson than blocking one little blow to the head. There was apparently a counter move that landed you prone on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, and still wondering, who stole your wallet?

Teyla held her hand out to help his bruised ego up. "John, I told you, you weren't ready."

He smiled at the contractions. At least the expedition had had some sort of influence on her besides nanites, even if it was not considered proper.

"No, I'm ready just not ready enough, apparently."

She smiled that maddening smile again. "No, you're not mentally ready. You still flinch at certain moves. It will pass and maybe today will help."

Today. Yes, today would help in many ways. The Daedalus was bringing a replicator weapon to dismantle Carus. She lay in state in her father's lab and John would not go anywhere near there or allow anyone else until the Daedalus brought that bad boy to shoot her pining, replicated ass into oblivion.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to make sure that she was gone. He would shoot the whole damn room and have Rodney, Zelenka and Hermiod scan the entire city for any sign of a biomechanical signature. She had done something no other enemy had ever done. She had spooked him. She had gotten under his skin and getting her out was a hard task. He knew Ronon had been having similar problems. But, he and the Satedan were good and that was all that mattered.

He grabbed Teyla's offered hand and pulled to his feet. They bowed to each other and walked to the bench to get their gear.

"You're right of course. As much as it pains me, sometimes I just can't help it." It was damned embarrassing when shell shock was not from noise but from someone walking into a room or putting their hand out to shake it or sitting in a seat next to him at lunch.

The flinching was lessening, but _damn_.

They collected their stuff and headed out. "I'll see you later and accompany you to the room," she said.

Fear clutched him for a moment. He did not know if he could handle her going down there again. He did not know if he could handle himself going down there again. Only one way to find out and that was why he would shoot the immature collection of nanites himself.

"Okay," was all he answered as they parted ways.

-------------------

Col. Caldwell stood beside him and looked down at the sleeping girl. "Are you ready?"

"More than you'll ever know," John replied.

John held up the cumbersome weapon and fired. Carus disintegrated into a fine, electronic powder leaving no mark of her existence. It was as easy as that. With the shot, a phantom pain shot through his ribs, down his back, and into his ankle. It dissipated out through his toes just as quickly as she had into the air.

The curtain was finally drawn on this misadventure. It had landed every person in Atlantis in the infirmary at one point or another. Even Carson found himself a guest after all was said and done. His nurses insisted. The lump on his head had gone from being recounted as the size of a marble to the size of a softball. It all depended on who was doing the telling. He still could not get out of ending up under Dr. Biro's care for a few hours.

As John recuperated, the only thing not in a cast, splinted, or covered in bandages was his jaw. Through some miracle, it was just about the only body part not broken on his body. The only thing he would have wished to be broken (temporarily of course) would have been his hearing. Rodney had moaned and complained until his release a day later about his head, headaches, nausea and the tender lump under his hair. If John could have moved and if his fingers were not in splints, he would have slapped him in that tender spot, so, instead, he had Ronon do it.

It scared Rodney to death; he thought the big guy was under the influence again. John had perversely enjoyed that for the ten minutes Rodney falsely believed that Carus had come back from the dead. When Rodney was about to order a city wide shut down, John confessed that he told Ronon to give him a good cuff. The cold shoulder of silence was a welcomed reprieve and well worth the icy death glares.

"Hermiod has scanned the city and found nothing. Believe me, the Asgard know what they are looking for," Caldwell reassured him. "Sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, no, and getting there," Sheppard replied with a subdued grin.

"Fair enough," Caldwell said as they turned to face the others standing in the hallway. "It's done," he reported to the audience.

Shoulders and faces appeared relieved. This had been a bewildering and frightening experience. So easily manipulated, Atlantis had almost imploded and become a home to slaves. If Carus had had her chance, she would have been able to repopulate the city with replicators and there would have been nothing they could have done abut it.

Since this was a risky job, there were dead. Five returned to Earth with flags draped over boxes as John floundered in a drugged out of his mind sleep. One had been found in the Gate Room, pushed by Carus herself, one had been found near Ronon's quarters, and three had been caught in live fire with those affected. A few others had shared John's drugged state with broken bones or bullet wounds, including Sgt. Vasquez. Now, everyone was mending quite well with a little guiding help from Heightmeyer's section and Carson's army. Some had gone home to Earth not able to cope with the fallout. Everyone understood and did not fault them for it.

The small group walked back to the Jumper that would take Ronon, Teyla, Carson, Caldwell and him back to civilization. Caldwell took the copilot's seat. John caught the everyday movement in his periphery vision and made that hated flinch. John swallowed and no one mentioned it as he went through his start up routine as if nothing had happened. He still had some work to do before he stepped through the Gate.

"Flight, this is Jumper 4; we are returning to the barn."

"Everything go all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, yes it did." John said with a smile, because it had. He had insisted Caldwell come down as a neutral observer just in case…

But, there was no just in case. They had defeated her and her opinionated father and life was mostly back to the abnormally normal.

"We'll see you soon then. Oh, John. Rodney says to tell you that he has a surprise for you. He'll see you later tonight to try it out."

Eyebrows went up around the small craft and even Caldwell seemed interested. John just smiled and answered, "Tell him, I'll see him then."

-------------------

"What in the hell is that McKay?" John asked about three hours later.

Rodney stood before him with a large surf board, smiling smugly. "Thought you liked to surf the waves, Sheppard."

Lorne stood next to him as did Ronon; their curiosity peaked at being invited to this little get together.

"I do, but we're in a cargo dock, McKay. Not a lot of waves in here unless you plan on flooding it." Sheppard squinted. "Tell me you don't plan on flooding it," he said in a low and dangerous tone.

"Genius Sheppard, not stupid. No, it's even better _Mr. I Want Flying Cars_. Took apart one of the defunct Jumpers from Atlantis 2 and grabbed a part that will hopefully have the proper effect. Also took a part from some gizmo with a charged power source that no longer worked and spliced the two to this board that Airman Guzman allowed me to use."

As Sheppard looked at his friend, Rodney flipped the board around to display Ancient looking devices attached with…

"Is that duct tape?"

"Hell yeah, only thing that would hold these things on without drilling holes, which Airman Guzman said would not be tolerated." Rodney scrunched up his face in mock disgust. "Like he would only want to use this thing in water after he's tried its new purpose."

"And what is that new purpose?" John asked with his own smugness peeking through his mock scowl, because he had an inkling, but did not want to appear too eager.

"Oh come on! You have to have figured it out," Rodney practically bleated like one of Carson's sheep.

"Will it create traffic problems? Will I need a flux capacitor or dilithium crystals or Ride of the Valkyries…?"

"Marty McFly will envy you; Scotty's got nothing on me; and Charlie don't surf," answered Rodney.

"Oh McKay, you shouldn't have…hand it over; I've got to try it!" It was Christmas morning, last day of school, and the birthday party that beat all other birthday parties rolled into one.

"Hold your horses! First, there are a few things you need to know. This is how you turn it on." He held up a cylinder with a button on top, which fit into the palm of Sheppard's hand.

"I'm not on Jeopardy am I, McKay?"

"Ha, ha. _No. _Click it again and it will turn off. I suggest stepping off before turning it off. Now, there are a few glitches, but…"

"Glitches? What kind of glitches?" The squint returned.

"Well, sometimes it doesn't like to stop, so you've got to jump off, but on the plus side, I've programmed it so it won't go any higher than six feet off the ground." Rodney seemed so excited that Sheppard would accept a few limitations.

"Well, give it a try," Rodney said excitedly.

Sheppard laid the board on the floor and clicked the button. The board hovered about two feet off the ground. Sheppard stepped on and kicked off. He was in heaven. The board floated around the room following his movements like a surf board or even a skate board.

He could hear Ronon and Lorne shouting and whistling, but he ignored all of that until a box loomed too close and he misjudged his height when he tried to dismount. Next thing he knew, Ronon, Rodney and Lorne were looking down at him and asking him if he was all right. Sheppard lay there a moment and thought about the question. Without a doubt, he was well on his way.

He looked up at the trio and said, "I'm good." He sat up and Lorne helped him to his feet.

"Good," said Ronon rubbing his hands together, "because I want a turn next!" Ronon grabbed the board and the cylinder and gave it a try.

"It's all yours, buddy," John replied as he slapped Rodney on the back and said, "Thanks Rodney. I…we needed that."

"Anytime," Rodney smiled back. "Anytime."

However, John Sheppard was not one to just accept anything as is. He thought a few improvements were in order. A few additions could make it even sweeter.

"Of course, now, all it needs is a steering wheel and pin striping," John needled his friend while tapping his forefinger to his lips.

"You know, you're an insurance company's nightmare or wet dream, don't you?" Rodney snapped back as Ronon landed flat on his back, laughing. Lorne practically snatched the Jeopardy buzzer out of Ronon's hand vying for his own try on the board.

John answered Rodney with only a mischievous grin.

Yeah, John figured he was, but hell, it was worth it.

The End

-----------------

_A/N: Well this has been a blast to write with such a gifted author as Stealth Dragon. She can knock 'em out in such a short time with such wonderful phrases that it's a pleasure to read and I learn a little something each time._

_S.D. - I honestly think Drufan turns a phrase with a lot more finesse than me. I was just following her example.)_

_We don't have anything in the works yet but as you can see the muses and bunnies are always wrestling with something if not each other!_


End file.
